


The Demon, The Exorcist, and the Memory

by aba_daba_do



Series: The Demon and the Exorcist [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aba_daba_do/pseuds/aba_daba_do
Summary: Alcor and Mizar are supposed to be a perfect pair. But Dipper and Fang constantly struggle to get along. Fang is an exorcist-in-training, wary and critical of his hidden demonic nature; while Dipper is judgmental of Fang's oppositional personality to other Mizars. As time goes on, things start to get out of hand.
Series: The Demon and the Exorcist [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679269
Comments: 47
Kudos: 98
Collections: TAU Discord Recs





	1. The Big 5-0-1-3

Dipper looked into the cup of hot chocolate, his reflection cast back into the dark brown slurry. He looked the same as always, gold irises piercing back at him. Same sharp teeth and dramatic wings. Even after all these years, he never truly managed to change. “So what exactly do you do on your 5013th birthday? I think I’m a little too old for parties,” he said.

“Don’t be silly.” She grabbed a handful of marshmallows and forced them down into her cup, followed by three candy canes and a thick pulse of fluffy whipped cream. The air was suffocated with the smell of sugar. “You’re never too old for cake and presents. Don’t you have friends to hang out with?”

“Yes, but I’ve never told them when my birthday was. Sorta ruins the whole immortal demon thing I’ve got going on,” he muttered, tapping his claws against the side of the mug. “The only person who I’d even tell is Mizar.” 

She chugged some of the hot chocolate, pulling the cup away to reveal a chocolatey brown mustache over her upper lip. “You should tell her. I think she’d like to celebrate with you: this is the big 5-0-1-3.” 

Dipper laughed at her, just for a moment, watching as she tried to lick the chocolate away. “I’ve only found Fang a few weeks ago. We’re still adjusting to each other, you know? Fang and I haven’t really clicked yet. She’s been… difficult.” 

Grabbing a napkin from the table, she rubbed the chocolate from her face. “Well it sounds like this could be a bonding moment for you and Fang.” She paused and chewed on a strand of her dark hair in thought before spitting it back out. “I know it’s not easy going through this every few hundred years… but she _is_ Mizar. A lot of things change between incarnations, but your connection doesn’t. So go grab a couple cupcakes and go visit her. I promise, she’ll see right through that scary demon exterior to your soft squishy core.” Reaching over, she bopped him on the nose with one finger. 

Knocking her hand away, he laughed. “Cut it out.” 

“Nope.” She bopped her finger against his nose again. 

Dipper’s grin faded just as quickly as it arrived. Something sorrowful creeped over him. “And what would you want to do, for the big 5-0-1-3? After all,” he looked at her, the soft curls of her dark hair caressing her face, how her eyes looked so bright and awestruck. “It is your birthday too, Mabel.” 

Mabel’s smile changed. What was once joyous turned to a thoughtful and sad glaze across her face. “Oh, Dipper.” Mabel wrapped one hand around his. Everything about her was intense, down to the texture of her fingerprints. He could smell the combination of perfume and hot glue on her skin, count the stands in her wool sweater, see every freckle on her nose. “I’m not really Mabel, I’m just a representation of her.” 

“I know,” his voice broke, on the verge of a grief filled rage. “You don’t have to remind me every single time. At least pretend or something.” 

His memory of her was perfect, concocted of every thought, every word ever spoken by or about her. The most precise image of his sister he could muster. She appeared in her late 20’s, soft purple bags under her eyes from the exhaustion of raising triplets. Every time he came to see her, she wore a new sweater every time he saw her, generated from one of his memories. This one happened to be her pink birthday sweater, the one she initially planned to wear for their 13th birthday 5,000 years ago.

After a while it had gotten too hard. He had Mizar. Every moment with each incarnation was a new adventure. But it didn’t change the fact that there was only one Mizar he wanted to talk to. Only one Mizar who knew him for who he truly was. But the only place she still existed was in his own mind. And, after all, he controlled the mindscape. So who was to say he couldn’t rebuild her from his own memories? 

Mabel slipped her hand up to his cheek and tried to force his gaze on to hers. “I know you don’t want to celebrate because you miss her. But she would want you to. _I_ want you to.” 

“But I want _y̸̛͖̤̲̟o̶͛͐ͅu̸̡̝̪͕͂͗̂͠_ ,” Dipper said, unaware of the snarl carving in his voice. “Don’t you get it? I’m so tired of going through this over and over again. I want m̷̱̑ͅy̷̝̤̥͕̐͛ ̷͉͖̞̕s̷̭̓̓ḯ̷̘̘̲̾̍s̷̖͑t̸̛͔͈̰̔͜ȩ̶̭͚͔̀̓̍̚r̷̡͚̜̪͒̋͝.” Noticing the echo and curl to his voice, he suddenly went silent. He hated that sound, the twisting and screeching voice of a demon.

“Hey, I know you're sad. But listen to me for a moment.” She had that big goofy grin he adored. “If Mabel had stayed with you all these years, you would have missed so much. Belle, Maddie, Marcia, Lane: all of my incarnations have loved you so much and you loved them. The universe is like a big sweater, sometimes you have to get a new ball of yarn. And now you have Fang as your new ball of yarn!” 

He sighed, “Fang is a little scared of me, I think.” He shook his head, “Actually, I know she is. She doesn’t trust me yet.” 

“Duh I’m Dipper,” Mabel did her best mocking interpretation. “I’m socially awkward and emotionally isolated. I have a hard time making connections with people and I use being a demon as an excuse.” 

“I do not!” he retorted. 

“Do too!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Bro, you have to show her who you are. Being Alcor the Dreambender isn’t gonna cut it. You have to show her Dipper, the dorky nerd who plays card games and reads the same book 5 times just to make sure he picked up on all the details. She’ll be scared if all you let her see are the dark and violent parts of what’s happened to you.”

He stared back down at his reflection in the hot chocolate, haunting, dark, and eternal. Wrapping both hands around the ceramic, he tried to focus on the warmth spreading through his palms. “I’m starting to forget who Dipper is. It’s been so long.” 

“Then let me remind you. Dipper Pines is the most loving person in the world. He’d do anything for the people he loves, including follow their soul around for eternity. He’s been a little broken down over the years, but it’s never stopped him from trying. I know this is hard. But you’ve never given up before. Don’t start now.” 

His smile was faint, “Thanks, Mabes. You always know what to say.” 

Leaning back, she crossed her arms and gave him a smug grin. “Yup. I’m a genius. Now go have a birthday party with Fang. Let her know that this is a special occasion and you want to share it with _her_.” 

“I will.” Standing up, he gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned to leave. 

“Wait!” She cried. He turned around. She pointed at his still full cup of hot chocolate. “Are you gonna drink that?”

“It’s all yours,” he chuckled and walked out of the Mindscape. 

\------ 

Fang sat on her bed, her usual clambering and shrieking emo/punk music vibrating through her bedroom. The array of all black clothing consumed her. The sleeves were torn away from her shirt leaving nothing but fringe and the muscled curve of her arms. She had her slick, black hair pulled into the signature, stumpy pigtails atop her head. She wasn’t paying attention, as usual, chewing on a piece of bubble gum and staring into her MagiOrb. The image appeared backwards through the electric blue holographic screen, though he could tell she was looking at a news article about the unfortunate dismembering of a child-sacrificing cult this morning, having been found with their organs separated from their bodies (he had very little patience for child-killers, especially when they ruined his birthday). Fang was nosey, that was for sure. Dipper sucked in a breath, trying to push down his nerves. He positioned himself at the back of the bedroom and rapped his knuckles against the wall 3 times to get her attention. 

At first she was startled, obviously she was. He had surprised her and she was still getting used to him. Not just the way he looked or the faint terror that radiated from him, but the fact that he had become tangible. No longer a myth or a legend, but someone real.   
  
"Hi," he said. 

“Oh uhm… hey?” she replied, unsure what to make of his unannounced presence. Scrambling, she turned off the MagiOrb and tucked it beneath her pillow, as if to hide what she was looking at. The yellowing lightbulbs in the room illuminated the pale fear on her face. 

“Sorry, I know it’s not one of our pre-planned meeting times, but I wanted to see you today,” he said, still standing awkwardly at the back of the room. Unlike past Mizars, he had agreed not to blip in and out of her life at random. They made a schedule of days and times she was willing to meet with him, all of those meetings lasting no more than an hour, and she could send him away without question. He had also agreed not to approach her without permission. So he stood off in the far corner of the room waiting for her to motion him closer.   
  


They didn’t talk about much whenever he did come to visit. It was always the most painful small talk: “how was your day?” or “nice weather we’re having”. They never had anything to say to each other. He didn’t get it. Fang was just so aloof. He wasn’t sure why they even met up. She seemed to tolerate him, feigning a mutual interest. Sometimes he was worried that she was thinking of all the ways to kill him, waiting for him to show weakness. 

Fang gave him a confused but cautious glance. “Is everything alright?” 

“Everything is fine. It’s all good. Today is just kind of an important day for me and I wanted to spend it with you.” 

Her shoulders hunched forward with curiosity. “What’s today?” 

“It’s sort of my 5,013th birthday.” He gave a mild smile and nervous jazz hands, rainbow confetti spurting from his fingers and then magically disappearing. 

“Oh.” She blinked her dark eyes a few times, lashes thick with clumpy mascara. “I guess I hadn’t considered that demons would even have birthdays. Let alone that you would celebrate it every year.” She pressed her lips together, sitting in an uncomfortable thought.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I realize I just sort of popped in here and dropped this birthday thing on you. That’s weird. Like you said, demons don’t really have birthdays.” 

“It’s okay,” she replied, a genuine sympathy curling into her voice. Her fingers played around the edge of her blankets, twisting and pulling. “You’re older than the Transcendence. This year is the 5,000 anniversary.”   
  


“Everyone just assumes I was born in an explosion of flames and agony, which would be a really crummy first birthday if you ask me.” He rocked back on his heels, wishing he could feel his weight shift. “But yeah, I was born before that.”   
  


Her gaze was cold and calculating. “I wish I had known, I would have gotten you a present or something. Now I feel bad.” 

“Don’t. Really, it’s okay. Most stores don't sell things I like, anyway." 

He watched her inch closer, shuffling herself across the bed, wrinkling the blankets as she moved. “What sort of things do you like? Beyond murder and eating souls?” 

“Very funny,” he replied, a sarcastic spit to his tone. “But seriously, I do enjoy things outside of eating the occasional soul.” But then he softened for a moment to think about it. Mabel had told him to show Fang who he really was. He supposed this would be the way to do it. “For example: I like the top 40’s pop hits. And I love role playing games; the ones from the old days when you had dice and graph paper. I like the smell of pine trees, the real thing, not candles. Oh and candy; the good kind, not that loser stuff.” 

“What are you, 12?” A slight snort of laughter erupted from her. 

“I’m 5,0 _13_ ,” he said and stuck his forked tongue out at her. This was the first time he had ever seen her laugh. After weeks of scheduled meetings, trying to force just a little bit of conversation out of her, he finally got Fang to laugh. It was a nice sound, abrupt but soft around the edges and accompanied by an aura of blue delight and relief. 

“It’s just so weird,” she said, the laugh slowing in her voice. “I thought you were gonna say warfare or videos of people falling down the stairs. Maybe professional wrestling. Something a little more chaotic.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t like any of those things. Okay, well, videos of people falling down the stairs are pretty funny but not in, like, a malicious way.” 

Fang looked over at him, standing in the yellow lamplight in the back of the room. A pink hue flushed his cheeks. She reached out to pat the bed beside her, inviting him closer. He did so, not quite sitting on the bed but barely hovering over it and folding his wings up against his back. She still went rigid when he got close, but she held her ground. 

“What about you?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows pressed against his knees and chin resting on both hands. “What do you like?” 

“Oh,” she blinked a few times, clumpy lashes sticking together. “I thought you would have rooted through my brain for that information.” 

“I’m trying out this new thing called privacy. I hear humans like it.” She contorted her mouth in confusion and disgust. “I’m kidding,” he replied. “I know what privacy is. Despite what you may believe, I do have a sense of right and wrong.” 

“I can’t help what I believe,” she replied. The silence hung between them as if sentenced to death on the gallows. And even though her music raged on with angry synth-drums and screaming lyrics, nothing could cover up the quiet between them. Fang sucked in a breath, looking away from him as if disinterested. “I like bubble gum, punk bands that say ‘fuck’, horror movies that are so bad they’re good, dunking all my foods in hot sauce, and…” she thought a moment, “killing demons.” 

He must’ve turned a stark white. “Seriously? Well, that’s...” 

She smiled, a subtle curve at the corner of her mouth. “I’m kidding. I can make jokes too. I mean, killing demons is fun, but I wouldn’t call it a hobby.” Her glance was sly and wry, a slip of her true personality slipping through her exterior. 

“Are, uhm, you still going to Exorcist training?” he asked. 

He could see the pieces of her history strewn about the room, as if she left everything out in the open on purpose. Old demonology textbooks were stacked on the corner of her desk (you could tell they were old because books stopped going into print 2,000 years ago... in fact, paper stopped being a thing all together), a protection sigil hung over the door, all of her awards and medals for Exorcism-training were displayed proudly in the same manner that other teenagers might display martial arts or science fair ribbons. There was a faint and lingering smell of burnt aromatics used to protect the home. It was even in the calluses of her fingers from gripping to weapons. Everything about Fang had been shaped and cultured to distrust him. 

It was one of the universe’s sick jokes. First, to take Mizar away, keep her hidden from his sight for so long, and then to turn her against him.

The way Fang looked at him always seemed to be accompanied by a threat, as if she were counting the ways she could bring him down. “I am.” She said it so plainly, as if she meant to insult him with the mundanity of it. “Dropping out would be suspicious-- I don't even know if its possible. I’ve been training since the day I turned 12, to stop so suddenly would raise concern in the community. I have to pretend like nothing has changed until I turn 18 and I can take my test to become a full Exorcist. And besides,” she said. “I think I need it now more than ever.” 

He perked up. “Does that mean you’ve given the whole Alcor and Mizar thing more thought?” 

“I haven’t,” Fang replied, a cold snap to her voice. Dipper then realized she wasn’t talking about fighting demons with him, she was talking about fighting him. She was still worried he might betray her. “I just don’t understand this Mizar thing right now. I need more time to…” 

“Adjust?”

Her voice was tiny. “Yeah.” 

“I understand.” His cheek puckered where he bit down on the inside of it.

Fang leaned back, using the palms of her hands to press against the bed and stretch out her back. “So,” she said, eager to keep talking in order to ignore the absurdity of her situation. “What did you want to do? Considering it’s your birthday and all.” 

“Oh.” Dipper hadn’t expected to get this far. He thought Fang would have asked him to leave by that point. “I don’t know. It’s honestly been a really long time since I’ve celebrated with anyone. How do you typically celebrate?” 

“I uhm,” Fang rested her cheek on her hand, a shameful pout in her bottom lip. “I don’t celebrate. My parents are usually too busy; not to mention they’re pretty terrible gift-givers. They always get me something related to Exorcism. Seriously, for my 5th birthday they got me _My First Demonic Dictionary_. It had all sorts of fun words for kids like ‘circle’, ‘fire’, and ‘human sacrifice’. The holo images were pretty graphic too. And three years ago, I said I wanted some new music downloads. So they got me 3 albums of Latin chanting.” Dipper chuckled a little at that, though Fang didn’t appreciate him mocking her misery. She punched him in the shoulder. It didn’t hurt. “Cut it out. It’s not funny!” 

“Sorry, that's just a terrible present. Latin chanting is the _worst_. I’m more of a classics guy myself; like BABBA.” He cleared his throat, it was a terrible nervous habit, considering he didn’t have a throat nor did he have something to clear out of it. “So really, you just spend your birthday alone? No friends or anything?” 

“No, I’ve never been good at making or keeping friends.” She sighed and leaned backwards so that her shoulder blades touched the back wall by her bed. “I guess that’s one thing we have in common. We’re both good at being alone. Huh?” There was a slight arc in her lips, a certain kind of look in her black makeup-rimmed eyes. Fang had the face of a silent film star; someone who had perfect control over their expressions. There was something coy in her face, like she had left a snare for him to walk into. She had him all figured out. 

“What makes you think I’m alone?” he replied. 

“Because you’re spending your birthday with someone you barely know. That sounds pretty lonely to me.” 

He laughed to himself, a sharp-toothed smile spreading across his face. “You’re very astute, Fang.” Then his smile faded into something more soft and contemplative. “But we aren’t alone right now. And all I’d really like for my birthday is for us to try to be friends.” 

He could tell by the pucker in her bottom lip that she was thinking. Letting out a breath through her nose, the tips of her bangs ruffled. “I guess I can try.” The deep brown of her irises looked nearly black as her dark gaze settled on his. 

For the first time, the smile she gave him was friendly and the tide of her breathing became relaxed. Maybe things were finally starting to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to share this!!!  
> I've worked on Fang's arc for 3 months and now its finally available to you-- the people of TAU as my gift of community, appreciation, and general thanks. You're all amazing and I'm honored to be a fan.
> 
> Enjoy the fic and ~~please~~ leave comments as you go. The only way I know what you like or what parts of the story to follow up on are if you tell me. <3


	2. The Cosmic Twin

“Fang.” 

She pushed the contents of her dinner plate around, the little green peas rolling along the metal dinnerware and across the trail of hot sauce from her tough, pre-packaged meat. The food filled her mouth with the taste of plastic and cardboard. It needed more hot sauce. She was tired; she didn’t sleep much the night before. Alcor had stayed much later into the night than what she usually allowed. They mostly talked, not about anything significant. He was avoidant in many ways, preferring to talk about things rather than himself. He told her about old movies that she might enjoy and about which places in the multiverse made the best ice cream sundaes. He avoided any talk about Mizar or his own history. But it was better than nothing, she supposed. She mostly talked about herself; about how her parents weren’t entirely interested in having a child but rather having someone to carry on the Exorcist tradition. It was considered one of the 5 Sacred Duties of Exorcism, passed down by the angel Bezemal: 

  1. Protect and Value Human Life Above All Else 
  2. Act With Honor and Integrity 
  3. Restore Order to the World
  4. Continue and Teach the Tradition
  5. Reject Evil in All of Its Forms 



Needless to say, Fang was not doing well at upholding her sacred duty. Talking to a demon would be considered a crime in the Exorcist community. But attempting to befriend one? Forget about it. 

“Fang!” Her mother’s voice was harsh and jarring. Fang blinked, looking up from the mess of peas that had been scattered about her plate. “You’re very distracted,” her mother continued. “I asked if you have been touching the warding spells in the house. Every few days something disrupts the unicorn hair spell or jams the MagiTech.” 

It was on a rare occasion that the Wu family ate dinner together. Sometimes they would barely finish their prayers to the angel to bless the meal, when her parents would receive a call about a demon in the nearby area and be forced to leave. Most of the time they didn’t return home until the early morning and would sleep through the day. They never cooked for themselves, always relying on frozen and prepackaged foods because they didn't know when her parents would be called away. Fang didn’t mind being alone. She had gotten used to eating dinner by herself (and by dinner she would mean the 2 bags of spicy potato chips she would buy from the car charging port down the street) trapped alone with her thoughts. If anything, she preferred being alone than to eating dinner with her parents. 

She swallowed, mouth dry from not eating or drinking anything. “I haven’t been.” But she did know what, or more so who had been. “Maybe we have a fairy infestation and they’re messing with us?” 

“I think we’ve been targeted,” her father said, the several anointed rings on his fingers clattering against his metal fork and knife. “The house has a faint demonic energy about it. Whatever is knocking down the wards must be powerful.” 

Her mother shook her head, short black hair fluttering against her ears, and picked up her water glass. “There have been sightings of Alcor the Dreambender all over New Portland. Hundreds dead in just a few months. I can’t imagine anything else would be strong enough to knock down our wards.” She took a sip from her glass and set it back down. “Maybe we should call the Grand Exorcist? He would know what to do.” 

“No!” Fang didn’t mean to yell, but it escaped her anyway. The water glasses and silverware rattled on the table as she lurched forward. Her parents looked at her with shocked and confused expressions. She shrunk back against her chair, the metal backing hard against her spine and shoulder blades. “What I mean is that I think the wards need to be retuned, maybe replace the unicorn hair. It’s been a year and we haven’t run any checks. Not to mention you track bits of demon in the house from your boots. That probably interferes with the protection spells.” 

“Fang may have a point,” her father concurred, cutting at his stiff, pre-packaged meat. “New runes and a cleansing ritual might do us some good. And the Grand Exorcist would tell us if he had any suspicion that the Order was under attack.” 

His MagiOrb blinked several times with a bright red light, a hard repetitive ping radiating from it. He gestured to it, causing the holo screen to project upwards, and read the scrawl of typeset letters scrolling past. His voice was very flat and stern when he spoke. “Possession at 14 Jackson.” He took another scoop of peas onto his fork, some of them falling off the sides, and crammed it into his mouth. Standing up, he stretched his back and plopped a hand on Fang’s head, disrupting the stubby pigtails that sprouted from her head. The anti-demon mark on the back of his hand peeked out from under his sleeve, a circle with intertwining lines set within. “Sorry, Fang, but duty calls.” He popped the MagiOrb back into his pocket. 

Fang watched as her parents re-dressed themselves in their ceremonial deep black robes with slits up both legs, and thick steel toed boots. Everything about an Exorcist’s clothing had a rubbery sheen to it, designed to withstand everything from acid to fire. There was a time in her life when she would dress up in her parents’ uniforms, allowing them to coddle over her with pride and affection. She started doing it intentionally just to grab their attention. And now the sight of the thick black robes made her sick. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, pushing her plate of food away, not actually having eaten anything. “The third sacred duty is to restore order.”

“That’s our girl!” her father beamed, strapping the pistol filled with anointed water to his belt. “She’s got the soul of an Exorcist!” 

Actually, Fang had the soul of something far worse. She had the soul of Mizar.

She watched as they scrambled out the door, the heft of their boots smacking against the floor. They waved and called out their goodbyes, unaware that they had left their child alone again for what must have been the 1,000th time in a row. 

The air that came through the door was warm and carried with it the soft smell of pine trees that grew in her neighbor’s yard. She used to play with the branches and needles as a child, causing her parents to scold her for playing with the symbol of the most feared demon in the known world. She promptly gave it up, going so far as to step around any needles she found on the ground. But now she was having second thoughts about the old trees. Tilting her head back over the edge of the chair, Fang stared up into the synthetic lights overhead and contemplated what to do next. 

\------ 

After their third meeting, Alcor had given her a few small summoning circles drawn on paper (real paper was hard to come by, and it made her question how long he had them), with the instructions to use them if she ever needed him. The paper was soft like thin leather between her fingers. They didn’t look like the summoning circles she had seen in textbooks, news reports, or occult scenarios. They made her feel a little warm when she looked at them, like it had encapsulated her. Rather than depict two stars, the center of the circle was adorned with a single star obscuring a pine tree. “It’s my personal circle,” he had told her. “Consider it the difference between calling a business number or a private number. If you use that, I’ll know it’s you and come immediately.”

She set one down on the floor, grabbed a candy bar she bought at the convenience store on her way home from her bag. She had taken one of the unscented candles that her parents kept in a spare box of exorcism materials and carefully lit it, allowing the soft burn of heat to caress her face. Then she chanted in careful, practiced Latin. 

There was a puff of beautiful blue flame that suddenly extinguished to reveal a pair of sharp gold irises level with her own. Alcor looked at her, nose scrunched up in confusion. “You summoned me?” The candy bar she used as an offering was already in his hand. Unhinging his jaw, rows of sharp teeth exposed, he dropped the candy bar into his mouth (wrapper and all) and swallowed. It was hard to believe that the person happily munching on a candy bar had committed several murders that same morning. 

“I did,” she said matter of factly, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Up until that point she had never called on him. She never had a reason to. 

Stepping back, he squinted at her, as if analyzing every part of her face. “You look nervous. I can hear your heart beating and your skin is pale and sweaty. Is something wrong?” A chill ran through her. It made her heart beat louder in her ears. 

“I uhm. I wanted to tell you that my parents are becoming suspicious about the wards coming down. They almost considered bringing the Grand Exorcist here. If he shows up we’re both done for, so we should probably start having our meetings elsewhere.” 

He gasped dramatically, a slight flutter in his wings. “Fang, are you,” a shark-like grin spread across his face, “concerned for my safety?” 

“More so for my own.” She turned to face away from him and crossed her arms. “I don’t want to end up getting killed because I gave you a chance.” 

He looked down, only then realizing how close he was to her, and floated back several feet. “Have you decided on a new meeting place?” 

She hadn’t. “There’s uhm… an alleyway next to my school. My real school, not the Exorcist one. If you stay invisible, we might be able to talk there.” 

He had a very particular look about him whenever he thought about something, whenever he was processing the infinite mounds of information the world had to offer. Suddenly so focused and calm. It was in those moments she could see the details of his face, the shadow of his eyelashes against his cheeks and the curve of his mouth. “I know the one. It should be safe enough,” he said. There was a beat of silence, nothing left to say. “Uhm, okay. Good talk. But if that’s all you needed to tell me, then I should probably leave.” He raised a hand to snap himself somewhere else. 

“Alcor, wait!” She reached out to him, then immediately drew her hand back with shame. “There’s one more thing. I have a belated birthday gift for you. Close your eyes.” 

At first he seemed confused, frozen in place and mouth slightly agape. But then he did. She didn’t know if it would matter, he was omniscient. 

From her black messenger bag, Fang presented a circlet of thick pine tree branches. She held it delicately, fingers wrapped around the twiggy center. “I used to make these when I was a kid.” She rocked back and forth uncomfortably. He blinked his eyes open, gold irises wide with curiosity. “May I?” He snatched the top hat from his head and bowed down. The circlet rested atop his head, green branches and needles weaving with the curls of his soft, brown hair. The smell was wonderful; like rich summer air or thick forests in the dead of winter. 

“Thank you,” he muttered. Turning to admire himself in the mirror on her desk, he gingerly placed a few clawed fingers at the base of the pine branch crown. 

“I know its a dumb gift but I remembered what you said about the smell and--” 

He cut her off. “No. I love it. Mizar has always had an artistic quality.” She continued to watch his reflection, something regal about his appearance, the way the black suit draped off his shoulders like an elaborate costume. But also something playful, the way he posed and made silly faces back at his reflection. “I think this is a good look for me. I can’t believe I ever thought that stupid top hat was a good idea.” 

Fang took a step forward, cocking her head to get a better look at him. There was something strange to the way he moved. He lacked the otherworldly qualities that most demons had. They tended to skitter across the ground like animals or move as if dislocating all their joints at once. But Alcor was different somehow. Even when floating he seemed to hold himself as if standing on solid ground or lying across a couch. 

It was just one of the many usual things about Alcor. If he smiled enough, his cheeks would start to turn a soft pink. There was a slight crack in his voice, not in the way other demons manipulated their voices to crash like lightning or screech in your ears, but a very faint flaw in the otherwise soft tone. How carefully he tried to touch things with his claws. And now he was admiring the woven branches of a tree. He even looked strangely humanoid.

“It’s weird,” she said, mostly to herself. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve been wearing the top hat way too long to get rid of it. Anything else just looks wrong.” Alcor replied, still admiring the crown of pine branches. 

“No, not that. I mean,” Fang shook her head. “I never expected you to be so…” her words dragged. 

“So what?” 

“So… human. I guess?” She laughed a little, as if the concept was absurd. It was absurd. “I’ve spent all of my life learning about you, all the terrible things you’ve done. And now you’re admiring a stupid gift I made out of trees. Never once did I stop to consider that you might like terrible pop music or celebrate your birthday. I mean, you’re…” she paused and she looked at him. The gold of his eyes seemed so prominent, that for a moment he wasn’t consumed by a strange and unfamiliar darkness. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t. She looked away from him, the breath that escaped her was wavering. “You said yesterday was your 5,013th birthday. As in you were born…” Shaking her head, Fang tried to ignore the thought. It had to be wrong. She refused to believe it. “It’s impossible, you can’t be.” 

“Human?” he finished her sentence. 

Fang swallowed, “Yeah.” It was impossible. She knew that. But she couldn't shake the possibility. 

At first he chewed on the claw of his thumb, as if it were a nervous habit. His eyes were hollow and expressionless, but she could tell he was intentionally choosing not to look at her. “Oh man…” He sighed through his nose reluctantly, “You’re right. I was.” 

Her heart sunk down against the bottom of her ribs. “That’s new information. Kind of a game changer.” 

He nodded, still avoiding her gaze, “I know." 

Fang collapsed onto her bed and tucked her face into her hands. “This complicates everything we know about demonology. About the universe even. It complicates everything I know about you. And me.” She sucked in a breath. “Oh my stars. And when you said Mizar is your sister you meant your literal sister. I thought it was a metaphor for like a soul bond or something.” 

“Uhm, no. The first Mizar was my twin sister Mabel. So your past life 5,013 years ago.” 

She raised a hand to his face to signal that he be quiet. “Shhh. I’m still thinking. Because like… that shouldn’t be possible. A human becoming a demon. And I was a person once before this. Like, a real person that you were born with!” Her breath picked up, a slick transition into full hyperventilation. “We shared DNA once. A family. Oh no, no, no. Oh stars, this is too much.” 

She looked over at him, the swirl of brown hair against his forehead and the soft high curve of his cheeks. He was the missing link to her entire past, a relic of a bygone time. Did they look alike? Wide eyed, dark-haired twins? Their school pictures would have hung side-by-side in their house. They would have been laid next to each other as babies, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Oh stars, I can’t handle this. One morning I woke up as Fang. I was completely normal and my life was perfectly insignificant. And then I went to bed as Mizar. I have a history I am unaware of but you remember perfectly. Until I met you, I was an only child. Now I am a cosmic twin.” Her breath kept coming in heaves, like the violent roll of the tide in a storm slashing against her lungs and throat. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” He placed both hands on her shoulders, jolting her back into reality. Alcor rarely touched her, and never with such tender care. But now they were suddenly face to face, staring at each other's dark eyes. “I know this is a lot and that I am a lot. But it’s all okay.” 

“No it’s not. I knew you were keeping something from me! When were you planning on telling me this?” She knocked his hands away. “About you? About your actual sister?” 

“I,” he paused, suddenly so unsure. “I don’t know. I guess, if you agreed to be Mizar I would have told you?” 

“It’s hard to be Mizar if I don’t know who that is.” There was a desperate cry to her voice. 

“That’s never bothered you before,” he spoke in a low, passive aggressive whisper. Realizing what he had said, he quickly covered it up. “Or what I mean is that this is different from what I’m used to. I usually don’t tell Mizar about me until we’ve known each other for awhile.”

“You,” Fang spoke between huffs of breath, “are going to tell me the truth right now. About how this happened to you. And your sister. All of it.” 

“I don’t think now is a good time.” 

“Why won’t you be honest with me?” 

“Fang, I know you are upset.” 

“Because of you!” Fang snarled. A tremble localized itself in her hands, arms, and spine. “Because you think it’s okay to string me along and not tell me the truth about anything. You expect me to be some starry-eyed human who goes along with whatever you say!” 

“I’m not trying to string you along!” he shouted, blue fire curling around his fists. A growl spiraled from his throat. “I’m just trying to make this easier on you! Why can’t you just ṯ̵͛͘r̴͈͚̾͋̊u̴̫͌̒s̴͇̳̪̅t̷̙̒̌ ̷̢̮̈́m̴̢͇̥̃e?” The sound of his voice pulled on the atoms in the air, it twisted and screeched against reality, as if trying to tear reality apart. That was the voice she knew, the one she heard in found footage and on the news. That was the voice of the monster she knew he was. The blue light flickered, illuminated within the darkness of his eyes. 

“How the hell am I supposed to trust you?” she replied, a sharp cut to her voice. “I thought we were finally starting to get along, and then I learned that you have been keeping secrets from me!” A tight, combative grimace wrapped around her face. She refused to be afraid of him. “I trust _no one,_ especially not a demon like you.”

Alcor blinked, as if snapped out of a trance. The fire faded from his hands as he slowly unclenched his fingers. The gold in his irises suddenly seemed more prominent. “I-I’m sorry.” He backed off into the far corner of the room, intentionally keeping his distance. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I shouldn't have yelled.” He rubbed at the side of his arm, ashamed and afraid to look at her. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise. Can you try to calm down first? Please?” 

She nodded, hesitantly, and then took a deep breath in and held it for ten seconds. While she breathed in and out slowly, she kept careful watch on him. Taking the circlet of pine branches off his head, he placed it on her desk, on top of a pile of old papers. There was a certain twitch to his fingers, something impatient and displeased. Fang continued to breathe, wrapping her fingers around the blanket on her bed and squeezing until her knuckles turned white. Alcor looked over at her. “Better?” 

“Yeah,” she replied. She wasn’t. 

He hovered over the bed beside her, sitting cross-legged in midair. Despite being a few inches away, she could feel how warm he was, like summer sunshine strained through a car window. Sucking in a breath, he attempted to compose himself. “This is sort of a long story. You might want to make yourself comfortable.”

At first she didn’t know what he meant, but then she looked down to see herself hunched over, still gripping to the bedsheets. She relaxed her body, and slid further back onto the bed until her back was pressed against the wall. Grabbing one of her pillows, she placed it into her lap and sunk her fingers into the fluffy interior for no other reason than to have something to hold onto.

“Right,” Alcor said, clearly not ready to start explaining. “Well uhm, have you heard of a place called Gravity Falls?” 

“Obviously,” she answered. 

“Oh, yeah, I guess you would have.” He changed at that moment. She wasn’t sure how, but something about his disposition became a little more unsteady. He hunched his shoulders together, as if trying to make himself small. “When I was a kid, my parents sent me and my twin sister Mabel to Gravity Falls to stay with our Grunkle Stan at his house; which he converted into a tourist trap called The Mystery Shack, later renamed the Stanley Pines Memorial Library of the Supernatural. That was a few months before the Transcendence happened. And it all started when I found an old journal in the woods…” 

He told the story like he was reading it off a teleprompter, meticulous and rehearsed. Like he had said all of this a thousand times before (and she supposed he had). But it also felt disconnected. Not once did he turn to look at her or acknowledge her presence. The story sounded almost too fantastical to be real, almost like a fairy tale; that there were two children, a book, a demon… and an accident. Things weren’t supposed to be this way. 

He had tried to do the right thing, but things don't always go as planned. The boy became consumed by a great darkness that had sunk under his skin. And the sister tamed the monster he had become with her incomparable love. It was a story about adventure and magic. It was a story about twins. Until it wasn’t anymore. 

He still refused to look at her, the gold plates of his eyes trained down at the floor, as he monotonously spoke his last words. “I was heartbroken when Mabel died. She was the only person who understood me. I didn’t know what to do. The demon thing suddenly became a curse rather than an inconvenience. So I started waiting for Mizar to come back. It was the only thing that gave me purpose. That’s how it’s been for thousands of years.” 

Fang pulled the pillow up under her chin, squeezing it inward to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. She could see it when she looked at him. Though he looked to be of an infinite and indeterminate age, he still had the high round cheeks and messy hair of a child. The way his face lit up when he talked about his favorite movies or how he fumbled through conversations. It was almost charming. But then she would see the twitch of his claws and the hollow darkness of his eyes; he was once human, but she couldn’t forget what he became. 

Her mouth was dry and each of her breaths had a faint smell of laundry detergent and hairspray from her pillow. “This changes things.” 

“For the better?” 

“I don’t know yet.” Burying her face down into the pillow, she tried to suppress the spiral of anxiety that drilled into her skull. “I wish you had just told me. So what if I would have freaked out? This is a big deal, Alcor." 

He spoke in a very gentle voice. “You know I never meant to hurt you.” 

Excavating her face from the pillow, Fang sneered. “I don’t buy that. If you were so concerned with not hurting me, you wouldn’t have told me about the Mizar thing at all. You would have just let me live my life! So why did you hide this from me? Am I not good enough for you? Am I not enough like the other Mizars, so blindly trusting?” 

His head literally snapped around. The golden irises of his eyes looked like tiny specks, consumed by black sclera. “B̵͌͜e̶͔̒c̶̜̆ă̴̯u̶̯̾s̵̥̏e̸̘͝ ̷͚̚i̶͙͌t̵̨̅ ̸̳̐h̶͌ͅu̷̩͂r̷͚͠t̴̫͗s̵̊͜.” The words slithered through his teeth. “I’ve told this story dozens of times and it never gets any easier. And why should I tell you? You don't even like being around me!” Fang didn’t know how to respond, mouth open but no sound coming out. “What? Am I not acting like enough of a d̴̬̍e̸̻͒m̶͕̄o̵̡̾n̵̺͛ for you?” 

“No-- I-- it’s not that--I--we’re...”

“Are you actually gonna say something?” 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. Realizing what she had said, she scrambled to clarify what she meant. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I just...” No. That wasn’t what she wanted to say either. Fang sucked in a composing breath of air. “You keep hiding who you are from me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust you or go along with this whole Mizar thing. But I am trying. Isn’t that enough for you?” 

“Yeah. It’s enough.” Each of his words were spoken harshly, with a certain hard spit to his tone. She didn’t believe that he was satisfied. “Look, we’re both upset and I think we could use some space to think. I will meet you at our next planned time in the new location? Okay?” 

“Okay.” Scratching her nails at the side of her arm, Fang tried to distract herself from the sensation of bile rising up her throat and the feeling of her heart trying to dig itself into her gut. 

“And I’m going to leave this here.” Alcor pointed at the crown of thick, green pine branches left abandoned on the desk. “Plants don’t do well in the Mindscape, even if they are sacred to me. They get all brittle and crumble.” 

“I’ll keep it safe,” she promised. 

The yellow lamplight illuminated Alcor’s expressionless face, as he rose from the bed. “Alright. Good night, Fang.” And then he was gone. 

The house hadn’t felt so empty since she was a child and both of her parents left her alone for the first time. Everything hummed, a hollow vibration of cool air rushing through the house. Fang shivered, her arms bare and the heat from Alcor’s body gone. She pulled her stumpy pigtails free from their elastic, allowing the curve of her feathery black hair to fall right against her chin. Then she stretched out across the bed, still in her clothes, and pulled the covers over her arms. With the lights still on, she laid there, prepared for a sleepless night.


	3. The Cultbasher

Dipper kicked his feet against the bed frame, the backs of his feet smacking against the wood. “I’m supposed to meet Fang again today and I don't know what to do.” He wound his fingers through his hair, clenching to the brown curls. “Can’t I just send a clone to go talk to her? Or just hide from her for the next hundred or so years?” 

“Mmm those plans have never worked out for you in the past.” Mabel replied, leaning back against the Sev’ral Timez poster that was plastered to the wall and stretching out her arms lazily. 

He had recreated the Mystery Shack from memory, the way it had been in the days before the Transcendence and the Library, during that initial summer when things were still simple and sweet. The attic had taken the most work, trying to dig into each detail like an artist at work. He specifically remembered where the dust bunnies were underneath their beds, the exact hue of blue from the painting of the ship at sea, and how many notches were in the wooden walls. Even the smell of lacquer and dirt that permeated from the gift shop remained ingrained in his memory. It had become his own quiet corner of the Mindscape. And considering he hadn’t seen the Shack in thousands of years (given that it grew legs and wandered off one day), it was also the only place he could call home. 

However, it possessed a dreamlike quality even he couldn’t describe. It rippled like a heat mirage, sometimes bending and twisting out of the corner of his eye. It never changed, but its details became more static and unyielding overtime. 

Ceasing to kick his feet against the bed frame, Dipper pulled his knees up to his chest. Mabel’s bed was as he remembered it too. Soft with piles of blankets and stuffed animals she brought from home that made you want to curl up and drift away into a long sleep. “I’m out of ideas then. I have no idea what to do.” 

“You’re overthinking this, Dip. You need to be more loosey-goosey, let things happen when they happen.” She wiggled her shoulders playfully. 

“When have I ever been ‘loosey-goosey’?” 

“Okay, fair,” Mabel replied. With delicate fingers, she brushed the loose strands of dark hair across his forehead. “But you’re also way more patient than you give yourself credit for. There have been other Mizars who needed time to establish that trust with you. Noie? Bentley? The demon stuff didn’t go over well with them right away either. Just have faith that Fang will turn the corner and eventually she will come to love you.” 

“That’s,” his voice slowly faded, becoming low and hollow, “not the problem.” His mouth didn’t even move though the words came out.

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know if _I_ will turn the corner.” Closing his eyes, he winced, like what he said was so shameful that it brought literal pain to his body. “It seems that every bit of progress we make is always undone. Every time I think she likes me, something changes. I don’t tell her the truth or I tell her too much of the truth. She likes me but she also doesn’t. She’s the _worst._ ” Embers of flame curled from between his fingers. Realizing that he was starting to combust, he let out a deep breath, the fire fading as quickly as it arrived. It was getting harder to control his impulses, and Fang certainly wasn’t helping. 

Mabel slid closer to him on the bed, not moving any of the stuffed animals out of the way, so that they squished up against his legs. “I think Fang is just trying to get to know you on her own terms. That’s all.” 

Dipper grumbled to himself, “She already thinks she knows me. She keeps trying to bring out the demon in me. That’s not what Mizar is supposed to do.” 

“In her defense, her whole world is sorta upside-down. Like...” Kicking her legs up onto the bed, Mabel flipped herself around so her head hung upside down off the side and her hair sprayed outwards. The Sev’ral Timez poster crinkled against her feet. “She’s seeing everything from a new angle for the first time. The world looks different and weird. But you,” she pointed over to him, still sitting upright on the bed, “still see the world the way you always have. Things aren’t changing for you like they are for her. And the longer she hangs upside down, the more uncomfortable she is going to get as the blood… rushes to her head… and… she starts to feel... dizzy...” Mabel’s face turned a deep, bluish-purple at her temples and her eyes fluttered hazily. 

“Uh oh, hang on.” Grabbing Mabel by hand, he spun her around and pulled her back into an upright position. 

She tilted back and forth and blinked. “Woah. Headrush.” Pressing both her hands onto the bed she steadied herself. “See? You just need to help Fang get right-side up again. She’s a little scared and confused now, but if you lend her a hand, she might start to see the world from your angle. You’ve done this dozens of times. But she’s still new to this. Have a little more patience.” 

“But how do I do that? She doesn’t seem to care about what I have to say or how I feel.” 

“But she does, dorkus! She keeps pressuring you to open up because she’s learning about you. Before this, she’s only seen you as a monster and to find out you were human must have been confusing. She’s trying to push herself back up but she can’t do it without your willingness to help her! She cares a lot!” She tilted her head forward to catch his line of sight, brown hair falling over her shoulder. “Do you want Fang to be Mizar?” 

He thought about it. 

Fang was far from perfect: too mistrustful and had a bad habit of throwing dreamcatchers at him when she was upset. She was constantly reading news about him on her MagiOrb without asking for his side of the story; always assuming the worst about him. But she was also quick-thinking and tough. She’d make a fine companion for cult-bashing missions. And she was attentive, enough so that she remembered details about him-- including his comment about the smell of pine trees. There was something in the way she held the circlet of branches so tenderly in her fingers and placed it on his head, unafraid of being so close to him that her hands brushed his hair. And in her sly smile as she mentioned she could tell he was lonely, because she was lonely too. 

“Yes. I do.” 

“Then show her how much you want her to be involved in your life. Because right now, she feels like you don’t want her to be. Try to make her feel special. Do something that will prove how important she is.” 

But what would make Fang feel special? Having all his summoners offer him packs of bubble gum or old vinyl copies of metal band albums from the 1980’s? The only things she ever seemed to do were go to exorcist training or beat him up. Unless...

A smile curled across his face, far more menacing than the excited expression he was going for. “I think I have an idea.” 

\------ 

The alleyway was covered in the large shadow of a concrete building, like a thin piece of black crepe hung like a canopy. It smelled like bitter industrial smoke and mildew. Illuminated by the soft glow of her MagiOrb, Fang paced along the curb of the alley. The cold, blue light illuminated her dark, wide-set eyes like two black holes trying to absorb the nearby world. Dipper watched her, the straight-backed strut of her gait, the way her lip barely twitched as she bit down on the inside of it. It had been her first day of the regular school year, and her messenger bag thumped against her leg, text-screen and ear pieces rattling inside. 

He still would have rather stayed in the Mindscape than confronted her, or maybe sent her a card with a sad puppy on it that said ‘I’m sorry we had a big fight. Can we still be friends?’ or 'Sorry that I blame all my social issues on being a demon'. He could tell from the way that Fang was pacing; defensive and guarded, looking into every dark corner in order to find him, that she wasn’t excited to see him either. 

Dipper sucked in a breath and peeled out of the shadows and into the faint light of the MagiOrb. “Hi.” 

Fang paused, as if thinking about how to reply. “Hi.” He could hear her heart pounding and the soft static of her racing thoughts.

Hover-cars and speeder bikes groaned painfully in the silence. Fang shifted, her thick black boots scratching against the gravel. They both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, “I--". Dipper staggered away while Fang placed a hand to her lips and let her eyes drift away. 

“You go first,” she urged. 

Reaching back, he rubbed nervously where the nape of his neck met the thick black suit. Even though he didn’t (and couldn’t) have an itch, he was desperate for something physically uncomfortable to match how he felt. “I’m sorry that I yelled at you last time and that I keep trying to hide things from you. We’ve done this so many times before and I’m eager to jump ahead to the next stages of this Alcor and Mizar thing. I keep forgetting that all of this is new and probably a little scary to you.” 

“If you think I’m scared, you’re wrong,” Fang replied sharply, but then caught herself, a guilty flush of pink clawing against her beige cheeks. “But it can be overwhelming. I feel like I never really know what’s going on or who you are.” 

“Well,” he said, a playful grin teasing around his mouth like a twisting snake. “I actually brought a couple gifts that might help clear a few things up. If that’s okay? I promise it’s not bloody animal carcasses or anything.” 

“Gifts?” 

“Yeah you know, things you give someone because you like them?” 

“Not that,” Fang shook her head. “I know what gifts are. Never mind. Just show me what you brought.” 

Rubbing his hands together eagerly, Dipper let the grin unwind across his face. “Hold out your hands.” She promptly did so. “This,” he said, pulling a long stick-like item from what appeared to be thin air, “is the cultbasher. It’s sort of the sacred weapon of Mizar. I’ve placed some enchantments on it that keep it from falling apart, as well as making it so only people I approve of can use it: meaning you.” It winked an intense and violent flash of pink into Fang’s eyes. 

Dipper placed the bat into her hands, letting the handle roll until it fit comfortably in her palms and curled fingers. The pink glitter twinkled and left its crusty residue on her hands. The cultbasher had gotten so old that it was impossible to tell what was rust and what was dried blood. She looked at it for a moment, dark eyes wide and mouth wrinkled together. 

“It’s a baseball bat with nails sticking out of it.” 

“Okay… it’s a sacred piece of deadly garbage.” 

“I’ve seen this thing in pictures,” she remarked, finally allowing her fingers to grip to the handle. “There are old reports and stories of Mizar wielding a club in battle. I just never expected it to be so… pink.” 

Dipper chuckled, “Yeah, Mabel felt it needed some pizazz. Give it a try.” 

Turning to the side, she took a couple of practice swings with it. He noticed how naturally she held it, the balance in her arms and the powerful curve of her spine. It was funny; she was so small and yet he could see the muscles flexing beneath her shirt. Of course, Fang was no stranger to weapons. When she swung he could hear the air vibrating around her. A faint grin escaped her lips. “This is actually kind of badass.” She posed with it, like a Victorian gentleman carrying a cane. “What do you think? Is it a good look for me?”

He chuckled, “You look like that guy in the show about the zombies…” 

Fang finished his sentence. “And the talking car for a sidekick? Yes! I was thinking the exact same thing! I love that show! I could definitely smash some zombie skulls with this thing.” She twirled the bat in her hands. “They wouldn’t stand a chance.” 

“That season finale,” he rolled his eyes in a dramatic display of displeasure. “It did not have nearly enough zombies.” 

Fang shook her head. “I know? How could there not be enough zombies? That’s the whole point of the show!” 

He laughed and so did she. It was nice to be reminded that he and Fang actually had something in common, aside from their cosmic and demonic connections. 

“Zombies aside, I’m glad you like it. Given how you like to beat me senseless with tennis racquets and dreamcatchers, I figured cultbasher would be your thing. But there’s one more gift,” he summoned the next item, plucking it from the nothing around him. A deep, red, angry eye hanging off of a string like a pendulum. It’s pupil looked like it contained rows of teeth. He slipped it over her head, careful not to touch her in the process. The eye rested against her chest, it’s dark gaze cutting into him. 

“No way. That's so cool." Fang dragged her fingers across it, taking in the smooth, nearly glassy texture. “Is this a real eyeball?” 

“That,” he continued, “is the eye of a dead god. It has magical abilities that will block you from the omniscience of any being, as well as my own. It’s for your protection and privacy, if you want it. Just promise me you’ll take it off if you’re ever in danger so I can find you.” 

She continued to drag her fingers across it, as if admiring fine jewelry. “I’ve read about these. There have been crusades for them across the multiverse.” Looking up at him with wide, doe eyes she said, “You trust _me_ with this? I mean, if it really does stop you from reading my mind that’s sort of a big deal.” She sounded so unsure, like he had given her some kind of test or trapped her within a dream. 

“Absolutely. Now we’re even. I can’t know everything about and I have to learn it, just like you do with me.”

Then she reached out, three of her thin fingers grazing the side of his arm, cold and callused. “Thank you.” The few times Fang had touched him were to beat him up. Several times during their initial meeting, and a few more after that while she adjusted to his ability to teleport. But this was the first time she was affectionate. “But I still don’t understand why you want me to have them.” 

He shrugged, “They belong to Mizar. And I know that I haven’t been very open with you about what it means to be Mizar. I was hoping that this could help.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, demons are a problem but so are the people who summon them. I often find myself... breaking up cults. The situation can get really sticky, really fast and sometimes Mizar choses to help me out. I want you to come on a mission with me today to investigate a cult, so that you can test the Mizar-waters. I think you’ll find it to be very similar to Exorcism; lots of quick thinking, sometimes beating things over the head.”

She looked down at the bat, the thick mounds of pink glitter scratching against her palm. “I don’t know… maybe.” 

He shrugged, “It’s your call.” 

“I guess I am curious to know what you do all day. Other than make babies cry and commit murder.” 

“Hey! Babies happen to like me very much,” he huffed, insulted she would even imply that babies weren’t fascinated by his dark eyes and wings, not to mention the thousands of years he spent looking after Mizar’s children or even rearing his own. 

“Relax,” Fang snickered. “I’m only partially joking. You’re really defensive.” 

“Oh,” Dipper replied flatly. He wasn’t sure which part was the joke. He decided to change the subject. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me too? I feel like I’ve swayed the conversation?” 

“Oh, that.” She wrapped one hand around the god’s eye, her face paling. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I think we’ve already said everything that was important.” The expression in her eyes was partly obscured by the dark smudge of eyeliner pressing into her lids. He knew she was lying, but that if he pressed her it would only make things worse.

“Well, uhm, if you want to come with me we should probably go.” He extended one hand, the tips of his claws reaching for her. Shrinking back, Fang nervously clutched to her sides in a protective hug. “Have you ever teleported before?” he asked. 

She shook her head, “No. It’s a higher level spell and it’s not particularly safe. There’s always stories about people getting spliced on the news.”

“Only amateurs get spliced, which I am not one. You’ll be fine.” Curling in his fingers, he beckoned her closer. “Maybe a little motion sick, but I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.” She didn’t budge, continuing to give him a cautious glance. “It’s okay. You can trust me.” 

Carefully, she reached out with one hand, her finger nails grazing his palm. Stepping to his side, Fang gripped to the cultbasher, fingers turning white. Her shoulders hunched together, as she braced her body for impact. Afraid to hold her too closely, Dipper tucked an arm around her waist and rested the tips of his fingers on her elbow. He could feel her lungs expanding against her rib cage. Rotating his foot 4 inches to the right, a summoning circle lit up beneath them. The blue light reflected in soft glowing waves against Fang’s dark brown eyes. 

A smile split between his lips. “Hang on tight.” He snapped his fingers and then they were gone.


	4. The Debtors

They landed in the dusty crevice of an old building, a basement lined with leaking pipes, cracking walls, and dirt. As the light of the circle faded, Dipper noticed Fang was clutching to his arm, the tips of her nails digging into his suit. She steadied herself, careening against his arm for balance. He tried to brace her with his other hand but she pulled her hands away from him. “I’m fine,” she muttered. She had a surprisingly strong constitution, most people tended to vomit after teleporting the first time. Inhaling, Fang held her head up to look around the basement. “Where exactly are we?” 

Meanwhile, Dipper felt like something was wrapping too tightly around his skull or jabbing into his brain. He tried to ignore it. “Just outside of New Portland,” he replied flatly, walking around the empty space in the basement. A grand stone altar stood in the center of the room, a thick circle carved into its top but left undecorated in order to summon any demon of the cult’s choosing. Thick white residue from chalk mixed with clumps of dust and droplets of old, browning blood. There was only one door in and out made of thick metal and bolted shut.

  
“Be more specific,” Fang said. 

“We’re in the summoning room of a cult that calls themselves The Debtors. I’ve been trying to track down their hideout for a few weeks now.” He peered down at the ground, covered with dust and finely crumbled debris until it looked like a fresh winter’s snow. “They run a trafficking ring, giving away and performing human sacrifices for those who would otherwise be unable to provide a decent trade for a demon in return money or power. Also they’re kinda gross. Look at this place. Do they not clean in here? I don’t know about other demons, but I’d rather be summoned somewhere clean.” Looking a little closer, he noticed the shoe prints in the dust, all scattered about the room with no clear direction. “I just thought they’d be here. And I can’t figure out where they’re hiding the sacrifices. I only see one door.” 

“I thought you knew everything?” 

“I know most things,” he emphasized. “There are some things I can’t know and some things I choose not to know.” 

“So why can’t you know this?” 

He placed a finger to his temple. “Warding spell. They give me the worst headache and really screw with my omniscience. It took me months to even figure out where this place was.” 

Fang paced around the basement, her gaze tracing along each wall with intense attention, eyes tracing along the cracks in the wall. Despite her thick black boots, she moved almost soundlessly against the concrete floor. She shivered, he hadn’t realized how cold the basement actually was until seeing the goosebumps rise up on her bare arms. Setting cultbasher down on the floor, she took out a black hoodie from her messenger bag and pulled it over her head. Flipping up the hood, she pulled the two strings until it scrunched together at her eyebrows, casting a shadow over her face. “So,” she said, her voice echoing faintly. “Mabel used to do this… cult thing with you?” 

“All the time. It was her idea. I was so young and inexperienced as a demon that she wanted to come with me on summons for protection… and I really needed it. Other Mizars ended up coming too: Mira, Bentley, there’s a whole legacy.” 

“Mabel sounds like a really special person if you wanted to follow her,” she paused and then spoke again with more emphasis and purpose, “ _my_ soul around for eternity.” 

Dipper couldn’t help but smile. “Mabel was incredible. She had this magnetic personality, everyone who met her loved her.” He laughed a little to himself, caught up in a memory. “The pizza man could come to the door and then leave as her pen pal. And everyday she would knit these sweaters, thousands of them with bright colors. Mabel stood by me through everything, even though she didn’t have to, right up until her dying breath. She,” he stopped, feeling the sharp pang of grief in his chest. “She was my greatest ally and my best friend.” 

“Were all Mizars like her?” Fang whispered. 

“Generally. They tend to be bubbly and friendly; very easy people to love. Kind and good natured. And creative, drawn to glitter or bright colors.” 

Looking over, he noticed Fang was staring down at her shoes, fingers clutched around the sleeves of her black hoodie. “I see.” 

“Are you okay? Still motion sick?” 

“I’m fine.” The was a wavering lull to her voice. “I’m just not used to waiting for something to show up. My training is very fast paced, there’s no time to think. Just act.” 

“I figured it’d be best if we arrived at your first mission early.” Then he paused. “But now that I’m thinking about it,” he said, rather absentmindedly. “I don’t know much about this whole Exorcist thing. What’s your deal?” 

With a sigh, Fang leaned against one of the walls. “Exorcism is a culture, I guess. I was born into it… because of my parents. Other people convert as adults. There’s lots of stuffy rituals and legends. We follow strict rules about the value of human life and the preservation of peace and order. We are supposed to be ‘servants to the community’,” she said in a mocking voice. “We handle possessions, create new wards for buildings, the Grand Exorcist sometimes performs blessings. And then there’s the whole killing demons part.” 

He crept a little closer, pulling his legs up as if to mimic sitting cross legged on the floor, but was floating in the air. “So like demonologists but with a sacred duty element?” 

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Exorcists are believed to be the angel Bezemal’s chosen people.” 

“Ugh, angels,” the word slid through Dipper’s pointed teeth. “Self-righteous jerks.” 

“Relax,” Fang replied. “It’s all just a bunch of stories. I don’t think the angel is even real.” 

“I once thought demons were stories but here I am.” 

She looked away from him, but then paused, focusing her attention elsewhere. Bending over, she grabbed the cultbasher from the ground. “I think I may have figured out where they hid the ward.” 

Pursing her lips together, Fang took a walk about the room, cultbasher swinging in her hand with each step. Dipper watched her intently, how her eyes remained true to their target. 

“These guys aren’t traditional, old school summoners,” she explained. “They don’t take their time with things. They don’t even take the time to clean up their hideout. Which also means they aren’t going to set up a proper warding spell with candles and spells each time. They probably have a MagiTech panel. Somewhere easy to reach but also out of the way.” Moving towards a back wall, Fang approached where the cracks in the concrete became suspiciously triangle shaped. Reeling back the bat, she swung it into the wall, digging the nails into the thin aluminum. The clash radiated throughout the room, the sound of metal beating metal. The panel was left dented inwards, revealing some of the tech behind it and remnants of pink glitter.

“Not bad for your first time. You’re like a cult-investigating Sherlock Holmes.” Dipper said, floating over the panel.

“Who?” 

“He was this really famous detective in a book who said things like ‘Elementary, my dear Watson’ and,” looking over at Fang’s confused expression he realized his references might be a little outdated. “He’s old. Older than me.” 

He sunk his claws around the dented panel, ripping it free from the wall. The moment the ward went down, he braced himself for the onslaught of information. (The building was constructed in--) (The temperature is--) (There’s a trap door beneath the altar. That’s where the victims are kept.) 

Moving over the stone altar, Dipper gave it a push. It was heavy, but managed to roll on a hidden track, revealing the trap door beneath. It was, in all honesty, a good hiding spot. Not only was it out of view, but it was likely too heavy to open up from underneath, meaning the victims couldn’t escape. “Pretty clever, creepy cultists, but not clever enough,” he said, mostly to himself. Then he turned to Fang. “This is where the Mizar part comes in. People are obviously scared of me, so it’s best if you go first.” 

Fang let out a breath, trying to collect herself. “Makes sense.” He opened up the hatch, a gust of stale and rank air popping out from inside. Handing him the cultbasher, Fang descended down the creaky metal ladder. Dipper watched as she went, her black clothes becoming one with the darkness. He followed closely behind, keeping himself mostly to the shadows. 

Dropping off the final rung, Fang reached into her messenger bag, and pulled out her MagiOrb. The blue light filled the room, casting itself upon the scared and sunken faces of the victims. They were dirty and malnourished, each with a heavy chain and lock wrapped around their waists for good measure. Dipper tried to contain his rage when he realized they were all children, no older than 13.   
  


What was it with people and hurting kids? Even when he was a kid, or a human kid to be more specific, adults seemed to have to problem trying to hurt him and Mabel. But human sacrifice was a new low.

Fang swallowed, obviously distressed by the sight and by the ripe smell. The children all whimpered and scurried back at the sight of her. “It’s okay,” she cooed, a caress to her voice. “You’re all going to get out and go home, okay? But I need you all to listen to me… Alcor the Dreambender is here. But I promise, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to help. I know he’s scary, but you have to be very calm. I want all the big kids to grab the little kids on your way out. Everything is going to be okay.” 

Motioning him out from the shadows, Fang called Dipper to her side. He tried to ignore the pierce of whimpers and gasps, but it was something he could never get over. Handing her back the cultbasher, he quietly went to work removing each of the metal chains from the children, making sure to keep his eyes withdrawn and wings tight against his back. 

Meanwhile, Fang gathered each of the children, trying to clump them in groups of 2 or 3 with an older child at the helm. She helped ease them up the ladder, her hand at their backs and gently whispering, “You’re doing so good. Just a little bit further, sweetheart.” It was surprising how calm and kind she was. For a moment he had seen a different side of Fang, someone gentle and focused.

When the last of the children made it up the ladder, he broke open the metal door that led outside. As Fang ushered them out, he curled into the shadows at her side, trying to hide himself within them. “Good work. We’re in the home stretch," he said. "Now we just have to make sure those kids are safe and—”

A scream slashed through the air, followed by the sounds of grunts and rapid footsteps. The Debtors were an unusual cult. They kept their numbers small, only 5 members, all of them wearing their street clothes rather than changing into robes or ceremonial dress, which somehow made them all the more unnerving. 

Fang rushed towards the door, only to be blocked off by a group of cultists, trying to restrain one of the children. She grimaced and used the full force of her small but sturdy body to bash against one of the cultists, digging her elbow into his gut allowing the child to wriggle free and escape back through the door. She raised the cultbasher, but rather than swing the barrel at the cultists, she used the knob at the end of the handle to jab at them. 

A cultist in business casual attire grabbed Fang by both her arms, causing her to drop cultbasher and struggle to escape. They pried out a switchblade from their coat pocket and held it up to Fang’s throat. “You insolent child!” They screamed. “Do you know what you have just done! You will pay for this!” Fang held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut at the blade played at her skin. 

“H̴e̵y̷,̷ ̷o̷v̴e̸r̴ ̴h̶e̵r̸e̸.̷” Dipper shouted, trying to pull the cultists’ attention on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Fang staring at him wide-eyed. While she had heard his “scary demon voice” before, it had only been in short bursts. 

One of the cultists approached, a nervous smile on their face. “Lord Alcor, to what do we owe this honor? Are you here to collect?” 

“I am.” 

He laughed, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Well, as you can see, our sacrifices have run off. But we do have this girl, should she please you.” The blade was raised a little closer to her throat. Fang leaned back, exposing all of her neck. 

“You have no right to give me what is already mine,” he hissed. 

“Alcor, what are you doing?” Fang whispered, the color draining from her face. 

“C̵o̸l̷l̴e̷c̷t̴i̷n̵g̸,” he snarled, his voice warping alongside the shadows in the room. “I’m not a fan of human sacrifice, especially child sacrifice. And now you’re trying to barter Mizar’s life for yours.” The sound that escaped him was terrible, like holding a microphone too close to a speaker and letting the feedback rip through your ears. W̴̜͌ḩ̴͐ō̷̠ ̶̳̕d̸̹͘o̸̩͗ ̴̤̏y̴̮͝o̷͚̾ụ̶́ ̵͓̐t̶͍̕ẖ̷̊ȋ̶̝ṉ̶̐k̷̼͝ ̸̋ͅŷ̶̫ó̷͙ṷ̸͛ ̴̙̅a̵͈̔r̷̹͋e̷͖͝?̶̟͂” 

Snapping his fingers, the metal door on the opposite side of the room bolted itself shut and went up in thick blue flames. The cultists scattered away from it, as if being herded into the center of the room. The one holding Fang at knife-point grimaced, and twisted themself around in order to use Fang as a shield from the flames. “Are we worth your precious Mizar?” They titled Fang closer to the flames. 

The light bounced off her face, illuminating the pale sweat on her forehead and cheeks. “Alcor?” The whisper of her voice was wavering and uncertain. 

A racing panic swelled up inside of him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want them to touch her. He didn’t want Fang to get hurt. He moved closer, the gold in his eyes painfully piercing. “L̴͐͜e̸̫͆t̴̳̂ ̷͕̚h̷͔͗ẻ̴͎r̴̠͛ ̵̝̆g̸̪̅o̸̻̕!̵̟͝” Raising a hand, he forced a shadow to crawl out from the corner and wrap itself around the cultist’s throat. They choked and gasped for breath, letting go of Fang so that they could attempt to clutch at their throat. 

Picking up the cultbasher, Fang ran to the opposite side of the room, a terror writhing in her dark brown eyes. But at least she was safe and out of the way. 

Motioning with his hand again, Dipper summoned another wave of thick blue flame. Their screams were like the sound of scratching glass. Demonic flames ate away at them, filling the air with the distinct smell of burning human flesh and a slightly static sensation. He felt hot with anger. As they all fell, in rapid succession of each other, he released his grip, not fully realizing he had been squeezing the flames tighter and tighter. The fire dissipated, leaving the room as cold and as quiet as when they had first arrived. 

He turned around, Fang was huddled in the corner. Her back and ribs expanded with quick huffs of loud breath. She gripped the cultbasher with one trembling, white-knuckled hand. This hadn’t gone the way he had wanted it to. He didn’t expect the Debtors to be so bold as to even try hurting her. 

“Oh no,” he whispered, crouching down beside her. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Offering her a hand, she knocked it away. 

“Is that what you’ve been trying to hide from me?” she screeched. “That murderous thing back there? Have you been lying to me so that I’d tolerate this?” 

“Fang, I—”

She didn’t let him finish. “How could you do that? Kill without reason or remorse?” 

“Reason? Fang, they held you at knife point! These people captured and killed dozens of innocent children for their own selfish gain! How is that no reason?” 

“That doesn’t mean you had to kill them!” There were tears starting to well up in the corner of her eyes, and he could see the determination in her face to not let them fall. 

“Maybe if you had actually used the cultbasher, they wouldn’t have gotten you and I wouldn’t have had to kill them!” 

“Is that why you gave me this?” She held the cultbasher out, trying to keep him away. “So that I would kill people with you?” 

“Cults are dangerous. They aren’t just people who did something bad. All they want is power, no matter what the cost. And if I don’t stop them, they will call on any demon imaginable until they get what they want. I've seen it before! These are the people demons prey on so they can cause an apocalypse! Another Weirdmaggedon! If I had any other option I wouldn't do this!" 

“You can’t try to convince me of your humanity and then murder humans.” 

“Humans murder each other all the time.” 

“But there are no consequences for you! You are without culpability!” She sucked in a shaky and seemingly insufficient breath. “Exorcists have a rule against harming humans. Killing puts us above the natural order. It makes us like _demons._ ”

“If you hate demons so much, why did you give me a chance?” 

“Because I thought you might be different! You’re a demon who obsesses over a human soul for thousands of years. I thought you might have some sympathy for humans, or at least take accountability for what you do! But I was wrong.” 

“Mizar isn’t supposed to be like ṫ̷͓h̴͓̽i̶͎̎s̸̰͒!” He didn’t realize how loud he was yelling until he heard the twist in his voice. 

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t want to be Mizar,” she shrieked. “I’m done. Take me home.” Her head dropped against her knees and she lowered the cultbasher. 

Dipper paused, unable to process what she had just said. “Fine,” he sighed, feeling limp and tired with defeat. He knelt down beside her, one hand lightly placed on her shoulder, teleporting the two of them away.


	5. The Meeting of Memories

“It’s official. Fang _hates_ me.” Dipper threw his hands in the air and paced around the mentally reconstructed living room of the Mystery Shack. It was warm inside, like thick summer heat and it smelled like old wood. 

“You don’t know that. You just have to keep trying,” Mabel cooed from the oversized arm chair. She sat sideways in it, with her head and legs hung over on opposite sides. 

Dipper stopped in his tracks, looking to Mabel. “No way. I’m done with Fang. She said it herself. She doesn’t want to be Mizar.” 

“Dipper—” 

“No! I’m serious! I’m done chasing after her. It’s not worth it.” 

Flipping herself around and out of the chair, Mabel walked up to Dipper, placing both hands on his shoulders. Her fingers curled against the fabric of his suit, and up close he could smell wool and static on her. “Relax, bro-bro,” she whispered. “You’re starting to go a little demon-ish on me. You can't let the demon instincts take over. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.” 

He did so, the air not actually entering his lungs (since there was no air in the Mindscape) but the motion calming him anyway. “I scared her, like _really_ scared her. It wasn’t supposed to go that far. I wasn’t paying attention and the cult came back. They tried to hurt her! I panicked! It was her first time and I was so scared that something might happen to her.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he mimicked taking another breath. “I lost control. I killed them in front of her.” The Mindscape ionized around him, as if turning into a billion tiny pinpricks against his skin. “The demon instincts are getting harder to control. Fang called me a murderous thing.” 

“That,” Mabel swallowed, “definitely sounds like nightmare fuel… but that doesn’t mean you should just leave her alone forever. You’re the only one she can talk to about what happened. You understand what that’s like, right? Not having anyone you can talk to?” 

He flushed pink and looked away, “I guess.” Shaking his head, the color faded from his cheeks as quickly as it arrived. “But she still wants nothing to do with me! She doesn’t trust me. How am I supposed to talk to her? And it’s not like there’s anyone else--” he stopped mid sentence, a cartoonish light bulb appearing over his head and flashing a bright yellow. “Fang is really freaked out by this whole Mizar thing, maybe it would help if she talked to another Mizar… the first Mizar.” The panic and dread on his face was replaced with a devilish, pointy-toothed smile.

Mabel frowned. “I don’t get it.” 

“She could talk to you!” Dipper exclaimed. “I talk to you all the time and you’re a great listener! I could build you a human body so that you can leave the Mindscape. I’ve done it for myself plenty of times, who is to say that I couldn’t do it for you? After all, you aren’t composed of a soul so it won’t take much for the body to hold you. And then I could just introduce you to Fang.” 

“But I’m not actually Mizar,” she replied. “I’m a representation of Mabel.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you know me better than anyone else. I’ve told you everything from the past 5,000 years. Real or not, you can explain things to Fang better than I ever could.”

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “Aren’t you worried that you’ll freak her out more by bringing me along? The Mizar thing is sort of a touchy subject for her.” 

“Fang wants answers but doesn’t want to listen to me. You’re the next best thing.” Leaning against her side, he tucked his head affectionately into her shoulder. Her hair tingled against his cheek. “Come on, just say you’ll do it. Please?” 

“Is this gonna be one of your dumb Dipper plans where I say ‘No, that’s a dumb idea’ and then you do it anyway?” 

“Yup,” he pulled back and pointed at her with two playful finger guns. “And I made you, so you have to do what I say.” 

“Fine, but I’m doing it to help Fang. Not you.” 

Dipper rubbed his hands together in anticipation, “And you will help Fang. But also me. So just hang tight. This shouldn’t take long.” 

\------

The light of the text-screen was hard against her eyes. Fang hadn’t slept the night before, or really any night, the backs of her eyelids burned with images of blue fire and blackening bodies. She had tossed and turned in her bed, unable to fight off the sickly and hollow sensation in her stomach. She felt stale, eyes dry and body tired. The god’s eye hung heavy around her neck, and was tucked deep beneath her shirt. 

Trying to stare into her text-screen, the projected words seemed to drift away. Her training regiment had been assigned to read the sacred texts: _There are but only two terrors in the world. One is demons, who bring chaos and disorder into the world. The other is humans who connect to them. Beyond ritualistic sacrifice and worship, to feel an excessive interest in demons is within itself a sin. They take up root in the minds of the unassuming, following false promises. It is the job of Exorcists to deny this evil and end the reign of demonic kind: for it is the will of the angel Bezemal._

Fang groaned and wound her fingers up through the front of her bangs. Her MagiOrb pinged from within her pocket. A welcome but curious distraction, no one ever messaged her. She had no one worth talking to. A message with no number or name associated with it passed through, ‘W _e need to talk. Meeting place. Today. 7 pm.’_

She swallowed, her mouth dry and stomach rolling with nausea. The very thought of him made her shudder with horror. She flicked the message away, deleting it. The MagiOrb pinged again. _‘I know you’re upset and you don’t want to see me again and that you just deleted my last message. But please, I just want to talk about this.’_

And again. ‘ _No. I’m not reading your mind. I’m taking a guess that you deleted my message. Did I guess right?’_

Ping. ‘ _Never mind. That doesn’t matter. 7 pm. Please.’_

A large shadow crept over her shoulder, “Messaging during training, seems unlike you, Fang.” The voice behind her whispered, heavy and gruff.

She rolled her eyes, tucking the MagiOrb into her pocket. “Leave me alone, Bludge,” she groaned, turning to look at him. He was a staggering boy of almost 17 with thick arms and close cut, blonde hair, leaning out of the desk behind hers, to spy over her shoulder. 

“Why? Is it a big secret or something?” He dropped down in his chair, a smug and curling smile at his mouth, the same look he always got when he decided to tease her. 

Fang rolled her eyes. “I have a school project, genius. It’s a classmate pestering me, like you are right now. So fuck off.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the pale cast to her face or the shiver in her shoulders. 

Bludge shrugged, “Can’t blame me for being curious when Miss-Perfect-Exorcist breaks the rules.” Reaching up, he pulled on one of her pigtails, an obnoxious habit he had been doing since they were children. 

She smacked his hand away and fixed her hair. “I _can_ blame you for being annoying.” 

A dull and drab voice called out from the opposite side of the room. “Would trainees Fang and Bludgeon, cease their disruptive conversation. There is to be no talking during your readings,” their master, a stout and generally unpleasant man named Mace called out.

Fang and Bludge both sighed, an air of shame and disappointment about them. “Yes Master,” they muttered, a repentant bow to their heads. Fang was secretly relieved, however. She needed quiet. Time to think. She tried to focus on the quietude of the Sanctum’s library, tall and hollow like the hull of a boat. The air was stale with the smell of rotted paper from books out of print by 3,000 years. Soft yellow light grazed the back of her hand from the stained glass window overhead, depicting the 6 hands of Bezemal (one of the only images of the angel she had ever seen). 

She felt the MagiOrb buzz in her pocket again, but refused to look at it. She didn’t know what to do about Alcor. 

She wanted to end things with him. She had seen him for what he was, destructive and impulsive. She witnessed the dark gaze in his eyes as he burned the room, the heat of his anger pulsating against her. The anger in his eyes as he shouted “Mizar isn’t supposed to be like this!” Thinking of him made her go cold. 

The MagiOrb continued to buzz in her pocket, nudged up against the knife she kept strapped to her hip as part of her training. It was repetitive, like an annoying child ringing a doorbell over and over. “Seriously?” she grumbled to herself. Looking over her shoulder, she checked to see that her master was sufficiently distracted by polishing his knives. Prying the MagicOrb from her pocket, she held it between her knees and under her desk. A barrage of messages appeared on the holoscreen:

‘ _Fang?’_

_‘Fang?’_

_‘I know you can see these messages. (Again. I’m not spying. You’re wearing the god’s eye, so I technically can’t. But I can see the little ‘read’ notification at the bottom.)’_

_‘Faaaaaaaaang. Pleeeeeeeaaaaaase.’_

She huffed out a sigh and typed back a message furiously. ‘ _Leave me alone. I’m done and I want nothing to do with you. I’m never going to be Mizar.’_ Her finger hovered over send, yet she couldn’t manage to do so. Trying to contain her frustration, she deleted the message and typed a new one. ‘ _You keep lying to me. You’ve betrayed my trust.’_ That wasn’t the right thing to say either. A frustrated bubble of tears formed in the corner of her eyes. All she wanted was to be left alone. ‘I _’m not a good enough Mizar for you.’_

The door to the Sanctum's library opened, the heavy iron creaking in the otherwise silence. Heavy boots pounded against the concrete floors. The classroom was usually quiet compared to the usual crash and tumble of the rest of the Sanctum. The master looked up from the old oak desk, at first perturbed, but when looking upon who had entered, he grinded. “Welcome back, Exorcists Dagger and Shiv,” he said, rising to his feet. The exorcists formally bowed their heads to each other.

Hearing the names, Fang stood upright at her desk, like a sudden bolt of lightning down her spine. “Mom. Dad.” She hadn’t even noticed they were gone when she came home last night. Realizing the scene she had made, still jittery and nervous from her cult-bashing experience, she gave a formal head bow. “Welcome back.” 

“Yes, hello dear,” her mother said, rather distractedly and half-heartedly without looking at Fang. 

“How was your assignment,” Mace asked. “I’m surprised to see you back so soon.” 

Her mother rolled her eyes and spoke with a feral snarl to her voice, “We investigated what we could. By the time we arrived, some half-wit demonologists were already there. They allowed us to look at the scene but wouldn’t let us review evidence or talk to any of the victims because they were children and are therefore under state jurisdiction.”

Mace gave a very casual shrug, “That is the law. We follow the law.” 

“It’s not the children we are concerned about.” Her father said. His face became very serious as he leaned in and whispered. “We believe Alcor has found a Mizar; here in New Portland. Occult occurrences like this are our domain.”

Obviously, he didn’t speak softly enough. Every single one of Fang’s peers turned to look at him, simultaneously curious and cautious, a soft murmur spreading through the room. A hot gush ran through her face as she sat back down in her chair. 

Her father continued to speak despite this, “There were boot prints in the dust throughout the scene and pink glitter in a smashed MagiTech panel. We need evidence and witness accounts.” 

She felt the tip of a screen-pen dig into her back. Bludge leaned in beside her, his breath hot against her neck. “A fucking Mizar,” there was a certain glee to his voice. “I can’t believe it.” 

“Shh,” she hushed, trying to overhear the rest of the conversation. 

“Do you think it’s like in all the stories?” he continued. “The Alcorian Myths and stuff like that. Did you ever hear the one about how he drinks Mizar’s spinal fluid?” 

She grimaced, a slight nausea rising up in the back of her throat from the thought. “Bludge, that’s disgusting.” Alcor was weird but not that weird. 

“By the angel, I hope we get to fight Mizar,” he whispered. Fang looked over her shoulder to see his red-faced grin. “How badass would that be?” 

“It’s only speculation,” Fang muttered back. “There’s no real evidence if they exist or not.” 

Exorcist Mace’s voice boomed throughout the library. “Fang, Bludgeon, I will not ask either of you to be quiet again. And to quell any rumors; there is only a suspicion of Mizar’s existence. The Grand Exorcist will be notified and will give us his instructions, none of which will involve you. So mind your business and your studies.” 

Fang felt something inside her sink, rolling down her spine. She was trapped, nowhere to hide or escape from Mizar. Pulling out her MagiOrb again, stared at that last message for a minute, letting it repeat like a mantra in her head, before flicking the message away and deleting it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fight off the tears. She couldn’t cry here; not with so many people watching. Instead, she typed a response as quickly as she could and sent it without thinking about it. 

_‘You’re right. We need to talk.’_

\------

It was 7:13 when Fang arrived at the alleyway. She still felt sick to her stomach. So rather than rush to attempt to meet him, she walked slowly along the sidewalk, watching as her shadow grew longer. Her leather jacket stuck to her arms and back with a layer of sweat. She didn’t know why she had agreed to see him. Maybe she wanted to break things off in person? Or maybe there was still a part of her that was compelled to believe he was good? 

Fang caught a glimpse of Alcor, sitting cross legged in the air. There was always a particular sheen about him when he resided in the metaphysical plane, a grayish twist to the air around him. Fang had been born with a strong connection to the Sight, cursed to see things hidden behind the veil of reality. But nothing had ever looked quite like Alcor. There was something very real about him, something that made a string in her chest tug. 

He looked up at her as she approached, a desperate gaze to his dark eyes. “Fang.” She hated his eyes, how big they were, like a puppy looking at you through the window. He moved towards her, reaching out with one hand. 

Grabbing the knife attached to her belt, Fang pointed it at him. “Keep away from me.” Her palms itched with sweat against the leather hilt. The curve of the blade glowed with exorcist runes and enchantments that she had drawn on. She sucked in a wavering breath. She just pulled a knife on the demon who slaughtered people in front of her. Was she stupid? 

He stepped back, eyes trained on the blade. “I’m sorry about what happened, Fang. Please, I just want to talk.” 

For a while she was still, breathing heavy and unable to control the shaking in her arm. The sinking sunlight winked off the blade. Alcor was calm, there was no mischievious or angry twist to his glare. There was a delicate desperation in his eyes. She pursed her lips in thought, “You’re going to listen to me first. The Exorcists are investigating your little cult-bashing game from last night, and they sent my parents as the emissaries. I’m in danger of being caught because you weren’t honest with me about your intentions. No more playing executioner. And keep your chaos out of New Portland. Do you understand?” 

Alcor nodded, “I do.” 

Slowly, Fang lowered her arm. “Then talk.” 

“Look,” he spoke with a finality, obviously already frustrated. “You have every reason to hate me. I lied to you and then I,” he grimaced, obviously struggling to find the right words to say. “I got scared and I lost control. I understand if you don’t trust me anymore. I wouldn’t either. But I owe you every explanation and piece of information you want. So I think I came up with a solution.” He gestured into the darkness. 

Something clacked against the concrete, echoing through the alleyway. A brown haired woman curled out from behind the building. She was dressed in ancient style clothing, very plain and simple without MagiTech embellishments; a heavy blue sweater that must have been too warm for the September heat and a skirt that hit just to her knees. A bright pink backpack hung over her shoulders. There was a thick and rosy sheen to her cheeks, as if she had recently been sunburned. 

“We’ve been seen,” Fang whispered breathily, all the color draining from her face. “Oh no, no, no.” She backed away towards the street, the urge to run settling in her legs and her fingers gripping more tightly to her knife. 

“It’s okay,” Alcor said, holding out both hands, gesturing for her to relax. She slipped the knife back into its holster. “Fang, there is someone I’d like for you to meet.” He gestured to the woman as she came closer, the light bouncing off the brown curls of her hair. “This is Mabel.” 

Mabel waved, a bright smile on her face. “Hi there! Oh wait, was that boring? This is our first meeting. Should I say something more memorable like ‘wassup, dog’ or just give a serious nod like,” she slightly bobbed her head. “Does it give me that cool but distant vibe?” 

“Mabel?” Fang whispered. She shook her head in denial. “Like your sister Mabel? But Mabel is dead. How could she… How could I?” She gripped her shirt just over her chest, as if it would help ease the tightening sensation around her ribs. “That’s impossible.” 

“Oh. I’m not the real Mabel,” the woman said, her voice surprisingly childish for someone her age. “I’m a representation of Mabel created in the Mindscape. But now I’m here. Look at my skin! It’s real!” She held out one hand, tracing against her fingers with the other. 

Fang looked at Alcor, her jaw hanging open. “You made her?” 

“Yes. Or well… I sort of Frankensteined her together. Mabel would sometimes give me her memories as part of a deal. They were always little memories, something she wouldn’t mind forgetting. But memories hold a lot of information about a person. So I decided to mash them together with all the other information about Mabel I had and...” He sighed through his nose. “There was a long gap between you and your last incarnation. I needed someone to talk to. So I recreated Mabel. I know you don’t really want to talk to me, so maybe you could talk to her.”

Fang shook her head again, unable to grasp the contents of her reality. Her lips and throat felt dry. “I…” Her heart was pounding in her chest and her legs were starting to feel wobbly. 

Mabel waved again, this time with more bubbling enthusiasm. “Hi, Fang! Alcor told me so much about you. You have a really cool name. It’s sharp and spiky, like your hair.” Reaching up, Mabel patted one of the stumpy pigtails on Fang’s head, causing her to frown and step away. “Is Fang a nickname? I wish I had a cool nickname.” Without warning, Mabel wrapped Fang in a hug, as if to pin her arms to her sides. “I’m just so happy to finally meet you!” 

Alcor laughed to himself, “Like I said Mabel was very charismatic and outgoing. She loved hugs.” 

As Mabel squeezed tighter, Fang felt something crack in her back. “I couldn’t tell,” she grumbled. 

Letting go of Fang, Mabel shrugged off her backpack and rooted around inside. “I also have a present!” Producing a thick, pink mound, she unrolled it to reveal a sweater with a sequined heart on it. “The real Mabel knitted a bunch of wool sweaters for all the other Mizars and you haven’t gotten yours yet!” 

It was the same intense pink as the cultbasher, enough to make Fang’s eyes burn. “That’s really nice of you,” she said, a nervous creak to her voice. “But I’m allergic to wool. It gives me a rash. And I’m not big on the color pink. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay! I can find a cotton polyester blend to make you a new one. Or we could make it together! Have some Mizar bonding time!” She cheerfully stuffed the sweater back into the bag. Then she rushed up and hugged Fang again. The wool of her sweater was slick against Fang’s leather jacket. “I’m just so happy to meet you!” 

There was a smug smile on Alcor’s face, obviously proud of his creation. He spoke towards Fang, “You said you didn’t know anything about Mizar. So, here she is. If anyone can help you be a better Mizar, it’s Mabel.” 

Fang tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry and scratchy. She could feel the swell of Mabel’s breathing against her sides, and the soft curl of hair on her cheek. Pushing against one of Mabel’s arms, she broke the hug. “A _better_ Mizar?” 

Fang couldn’t stop staring into Mabel’s big brown eyes, _her eyes._ Those were once her eyes. She had come face to face with a past that she couldn’t remember; a combination of memories that once belonged to her, now independent and separated from her soul. This was the past that negated and controlled her present, like she was tied up in strings as Alcor tugged her along.

Fang tried to ignore the very obvious tremble that coursed through her chest and into her arms. Her breath stung in her throat and lungs, a painful pinch throughout her body. 

Alcor raised an eyebrow at her. “Fang, are you okay?” 

It felt like hours from the moment he asked to when she finally answered. “I told you I was done.” Her words tasted bitter. It was only then that she realized she bit down so hard on her bottom lip that blood had spilled into her mouth. “I don’t want to see you and I especially don’t want to see _her,_ ” she pointed at Mabel. “I’m obviously not meant to be Mizar so just leave me alone.” 

She turned to leave the alleyway when a warm and clawed hand wrapped around hers. The feeling of Alcor’s skin against hers made her shudder, he felt unreal, like how things feel in dreams. As if his touch existed only in her head. “Fang, please. Tell me what’s wrong. I don’t understand. Is this still about last night? Look, I’m sorry. I--” 

There was a flash as Fang grabbed her knife again, this time letting it rip across Alcor’s wrist. While she had heard him grumble or complain before from the several times she hit him or trapped him in a dreamcatcher, never one had Fang heard Alcor wince, the sharp intake of his breath and whimper escaping his lips. He recoiled, looking down at the trail of bright gold blood that dripped down his hand like a leaky faucet. Gripping at his wrist with his other hand, he held it close to his chest. There was something very human about the instinct, how he tried to nurse his wound and stop the bleeding, even though it would be healed in a few minutes. But then there was his gaze, the blacks of his eyes shredding through her. 

Mabel rushed over, pulling him back by his shoulders. “Alcor.” There was a firm caution to her voice, as if attempting to restrain him. 

Fang stepped back. She didn’t mean to take it so far. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. But when she tried to apologize she couldn’t bring herself to. “No. You don’t understand,” she whispered. “So please, just leave me alone.” 

By the time she blinked, she was running. Weaving her way through the streets, she looked down at the knife in her hand, dripping with the golden blood of Alcor the Dreambender. She stifled a sob, continuing to run and refusing to look back over her shoulder at the alleyway. 


	6. The Soul Called Mizar

The holo message continually scrolled past from the MagiTech panel next to the training room door: _All training activities have been postponed for until further notice._

Bludge stomped his foot against the ground and tossed his knife down with a clatter. “Aww come on!” he shouted. “It was knife throwing day!” Several other students groaned, tucking their knives and axes back into their holsters. 

Fang, on the other hand, was grateful. She was so tired she could barely see straight, let alone throw a knife. She was too afraid to fall asleep the night before; terrified of who might try to pay a visit in her dreams. Instead she laid on her side, passing her hand over the pine tree circlet, which she had removed from its hiding place in her closet. She pressed her hand onto the top of the circlet, letting the dry needles jab and crack under the pressure. The smell was still ripe; burning against her nose and throat but still pleasant. She understood why Alcor liked it. It made her feel awake. 

“Trainees, attention!” Exorcist Mace called out, as he shuffled down the hall. He was not in his casual robes, loose fitting and cropped at the knee. But rather he was donned in full Exorcism uniform, with steel toed boots and a pistol of anointed water at his hip. He had supposedly retired from the field some years ago, which made the sight all the more jarring. 

The trainees all turned around and bowed formally to him. “Good evening, master.” They said in unenthused unison. 

Exorcist Mace frowned and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I know you all heard the rumors yesterday about the Alcor the Dreambender and the soul called Mizar. The angel Bezemal has spoken: this threat is real. The Grand Exorcist has placed a kill order on both of them. All trainees are banned from entering the Sanctum. You are to stay at home and stay out of trouble. Should the Order fall in battle, you would be all that is left.” 

Fang suddenly felt hot, unaware that her face had turned a bright red. All the air in her lungs suddenly felt insufficient, like she was trapped inside a pressurized vacuum. “A kill order? I thought Mizar was human? The first Sacred Duty is not to kill humans.” The panic poured out of her like water from a destroyed dam.

“Yes,” Exorcist Mace said with a reluctant drip to his words. “But Mizar is dangerous and fraternizing with the most powerful demon in the world. The Sacred Duties have been lifted for this single occasion: it is the direct will of the angel Bezemal.” 

“But plenty of people fraternize with Alcor,” Fang argued, unaware of how her voice was rising or her words picking up speed. “Like The Circle of the Dreamer’s Star. All they do is fraternize with Alcor and we don’t kill them. How do we know Mizar isn’t innocent in this?”

Exorcist Mace turned a deep red. His voice snapped like a whip in the silence, “That is enough, Fang. These are the orders and we will follow them. Now all of you, retrieve your things from the locker room and leave immediately.” 

“Yes, Master,” she muttered, fingers dragging along the edge of her knife holster. 

\-------

Leaning over her locker, Fang slipped back into her leather jacket. She kept a carefully trained eye on the duffle bag she had tucked into the back. Hidden inside it was the cultbasher. She was nervous about leaving it unattended at home, and considering it was common for Exorcists to carry their own weapons around she could lo bring it with her. And so long as she kept it tucked safely in a locker, she never had to worry about anyone finding it. 

Pulling her MagiOrb out of her pocket, she typed a message to a numberless and nameless connection. _‘Things are getting worse with the Exorcists. Meet me at the usual place right away.’_ There was no way to know if Alcor would ever see the message. (She was unsure about how he even sent or received messages without a MagiOrb.) But it was the quickest way to contact him. Moments later a little ‘read’ notification pinged at the bottom of the holo screen's projection. 

She waited. No reply.   
  
She passed her hand though the hologram, causing it to dissipate. 

The other trainees around chattered around her in a low drone. “I can’t believe Mizar is real, you know?” Whispered one of the boys from the opposite side of the room. He ripped off one of his boots and tossed it in his locker, the thunk echoing throughout the room. “I always thought Mizar was something Alcor just sorta made up with brain magic to fuck with people. Like Mizar hasn't even been seen for hundreds of years.” 

Fang popped the lid on her water bottle, desperate to beat the hot and dry sensation rising up in her body, but also to ignore the conversation happening around her. But the water wasn't enough to rid herself of the nervous itch in her throat. 

“Like a tulpa?” asked another trainee, hanging up an axe inside their locker. 

“Yeah exactly.” 

“Oh, dude,” a lanky girl with her hair yanked back into a slick ponytail said. “Did you ever read those old legends that say Mizar is his wife? The story books and junk? Do you think they’ve been getting _freaky_?” She straddled against another nearby trainee to insinuate the action. The second trainee threw their head back and laughed. “Imagine fucking something like that."

Fang choked, coughing up water. The thought made her stomach churn, a sudden disgust rising up in the back of her throat. Mixed with the vile smell of sweat and old demon blood in the locker room, she was starting to feel very unwell. 

Who even came up with these myths? It was like no one had ever actually spoken to him. All the stories about Mizar being his wife, how he drank her spinal fluid, or was the reason they put letters in math; those weren’t him. Sure, she could agree that Alcor wasn’t perfect. He was secretive, sometimes volatile, probably even a little paranoid. But he was also easily flustered and liked candy way too much. He wasn't some monster, like the kind in children's stories. He was just Alcor. 

And maybe was being too hard on him. Maybe she was taking the Exorcists' word too seriously. Alcor wasn't all the bad things he was made out to be.

“I read one that says he owns Mizar’s soul,” Bludge said, sitting on the bench in the middle of the room. A knife twirled around his fingers in a cyclical silver shimmer; still obviously upset about training being cancelled. “He can force Mizar to do whatever he wants. The only reason he hasn’t killed Mizar is because they have some ancient deal or whatever. And he constantly forces them into being his loyal servant.” 

A bitter shiver raced along the edges of her spine. That definitely wasn’t true. Alcor kept a lot of secrets from her, but he’d never keep anything so serious a secret. Right? This was about the state of her soul, the thing he was literally obsessed with. He would have told her. That definitely wasn’t something he would do. Still, Fang placed an instinctive and nervous hand to her chest, fingers resting atop the god’s eye tucked under her shirt.   
  
The girl with the tight pony tail laughed. "Yeah sure. Like a demon would keep someone's soul without eating it or using it." 

Fang typed another message and sent it off as quickly as she could _‘Alcor? Please answer me. They’ve placed a kill order on both of us. I need to talk to you.’_ Again, the ‘read’ notification appeared in the corner. 

Bludge loved over at her, a serious glare on his round face. “And what do you think, Fang? You’re the Mizar sympathizer.” 

Quickly, Fang tucked the MagiOrb behind her back, trying to watch the holo projection out of the corner of her eye. “I’m not a sympathizer,” she muttered. “But I…” She looked back down at her MagiOrb. Still no answer. “I don’t think we should ever kill humans. That’s what demons do.” 

Finally, a reply pinged on her MagiOrb. _‘Fine.’_ She let out a sigh of relief through her nose. Grabbing the duffle bag from her locker, Fang slung it around her shoulder and slammed the metal door shut behind her with her foot. 

“Mizar might as well be a demon,” Bludge replied. “The only thing worse than demons are the humans who give them their power. If you ask me, Mizar deserves what’s coming for them. In this life and from all their past lives.” He looked up, noticing Fang walking by with her duffle bag. “Hey, Miss-Perfect-Exorcist. Get back here. We’re not done talking.” 

“What else is there to talk about? More stupid myths?” she grumbled. 

“Oh now the myths are stupid?” he teased. Ceasing to twirl the knife around his fingers, Bludge gripped it in his hand, rising up from the bench. “I think you know more about this whole Mizar thing than you’re letting on.” He loomed over her, his heavy build casting a deep black shadow over her. 

“Just leave me alone. I have somewhere I need to be and you’re gonna make me late.” 

As Fang tried to maneuver around Bludge, the girl in the slicked back ponytail blocked her path. “Aren’t your parents the ones who first suspected Alcor and Mizar? They were the emissaries in that case. I’m sure you must have heard something.” 

“I haven’t seen them since we were in class yesterday.” Fang tried to move again, but Bludge gripped to the strap of her duffle back, causing cultbasher to jerk around inside, the nails nearly piercing through the fabric and digging into her hip. 

“Come on, Fang.” His knife winked in the white lights overhead. “Why are you being so secretive?” 

She resisted the urge to grab cultbasher’s handle and bury its spikes into Bludge’s side. Letting out a controlled breath Fang spoke in a very firm and dictative voice. “Fine. I am Mizar. I’ve been messaging Alcor the Dreambender; sometimes we meet up to share secrets and kill cultists. Is that what you want to hear?” 

The silence was uneasy, a loose and teetering tension. And then the other trainees laughed, heavy and guttural. They wiped tears from their cheeks and sunk down onto the benches. Bludge cackled and sucked in a breath, “Could you imagine it though? There’s no way Fang’s hot enough to be his wife. And the way she’d lecture him, ‘Don’t kill humans, Alcor. That’s bad’.” He doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes. 

Fang gave a teasing grin. She always did well in deception lessons; at least they were finally becoming useful. “I’m telling you guys, I don’t know anything.” She ducked around Bludge and the girl with the tight ponytail, still maintaining her false grin. “But seriously, I’m meeting someone about a group project. Have fun with your weird Mizar myths.” She slipped through the door and out of the Sanctum. 

\------

The alleyway was damp with the afternoon’s rain, turning the pale gray concrete a near-black and making the world smell like dew and dirt. Fang peeled around the side of the building, trying to cling to the shadows. Her experience with the other trainees cost her some time, and she was definitely running late. The duffle bag strap dug into her shoulder and strained against the muscles in her back as the cultbasher shifted around inside. She was going to return the cultbasher and the god’s eye and send him away until she was 18. She wasn’t ready to stop seeing him, but she needed more time. And she needed to make sure the Exorcists never discovered her. 

Alcor’s voice drifted through the mindscape, audible only to her. “She should be here by now,” he said, an impatient tick to his voice. “Why isn’t she here yet?” Fang picked up her pace, jogging over to the alleyway as fast as she could. 

“Be patient,” Mabel said. “She’s probably just running late. Maybe she saw a bunch of cute dogs on the way here and had to pet them?” 

He groaned, “Or she’s changed her mind again. Ugh, what is her problem? First, she calls me here and then she doesn’t show up! And then yesterday, she said she wanted to talk but she obviously didn’t trust me. But she also didn’t want to talk to you. I don’t get it, what is her deal?” 

Pressing her back into the wall, Fang carefully peaked around the corner to catch a glimpse of two dark haired figures; one in a slick black suit and the other in a pale blue sweater. She knew it was wrong to spy. But she couldn’t resist the urge to eavesdrop on the truth, to hear what Alcor really thought. Her breaths were shallow and inadequate, as she attempted not to make a sound. She gripped a hand around the god’s eye, knuckles white and palm sweating. 

“Well…” Mabel drew out the word, cautious to even speak. “I think we made Fang feel just a teensy-weensy unwanted.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You did sort of tell her that she wasn’t a good Mizar… and that you wanted her to be more like me.” 

“That’s ridiculous. How could she feel insecure around you? She is you.” 

“Fang… isn’t the kind of person you are used to.” Mabel sighed and scrunched her lips together, as if her words were sour. “I think you hurt her by talking so much about Mabel. You kept a lot of secrets from her. You got angry when she didn’t act like other Mizars. And then you brought me here to show her how awesome I am.” She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, “There’s only one way to fix this. I think you should destroy me, completely. Both here and in the Mindscape. That way you can focus on Fang.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Sure you can. I am not real. I am just a--”

“I know what you are!” Alcor shouted. The blue light of demonic flame flashed against the concrete, causing Fang to jump back and cover her mouth to muffle the sound of her gasp. Slowly, she breathed through the gaps in her fingers. “I don’t want Fang, I want you!” 

“You can’t have me,” Mabel cooed. “Fang is the real deal, Dipper. She is Mizar; it’s plastered all over her soul. And I am,” she stopped and sucked in a deep breath. “I am empty. As much as I can look and act and feel like I am Mabel, I’m not her. Fang has a soul and I don’t. She is more Mabel than I will ever be.” 

The blue flame faded away, hissing like an extinguished campfire. Fang peeked around the corner again, to see an eerie stillness across Alcor’s face. He seemed subdued, but not relaxed, his claws curling into fists and his jaw hardset. His eyes were squeezed shut and his head hung so that his chin folded into his sternum. “You’re right,” he said calmly. But then his head snapped up in a single, fluid motion, suddenly something sparking in the gold of his eyes. “But you don’t have to be soulless. I mean, your soul is right there.” 

“What are you saying?” Mabel asked. 

“Just that we switch things up a little.” He said it so casually, despite the intense gleam in his eyes and the venomous curl in his lips. “Do a little soul transplant.”

“Please, don’t say that,” she begged. “Fang could show up at any moment. You don’t want her to hear this. I know that you don’t want to hurt her!” 

“I _want_ Mabel.” 

“No! You can’t do that to Fang!”

“She doesn’t want to be Mizar. I can’t un-Mizar her, but I can take Mizar out of her. So really, this is a win-win situation.” 

“I can’t believe you would even think about it. That’s terrible. You can’t do that to her! She isn’t like me, she can’t live without a soul!” 

Fang stepped away from the alleyway, desperate to run but too afraid to make even the slightest sound. She wished for nothing more than to stop breathing or for the rumble of a passing by truck to cover the sounds of her footprints. A twang radiated through her chest and around her rips, as if something tried to pinch at her lungs. Pulling her hand away from her mouth, only then did she realize her face was slick and wet. 

Alcor inched closer to the wall, not yet realizing Fang was behind it. She watched as Mabel’s shadow came closer, as Alcor hovered over her. Her blue sweater peeked out from around the concrete wall before coming to a stop. Fang crouched down in front of one of the buildings, trying to make herself as small as possible. “I own her! I can do whatever I want with her soul! I want my sister back; and Fang is not my sister! She’s not even close.” 

Fang’s foot slipped, nearly causing her to fall face-first into the concrete. She braced herself on her hands and knees, her duffle bag nearly slipping off her shoulder. The concrete rubbed and burned on her palms. It felt like she was drowning, her throat clogging with tears. Alcor said he would never hurt her. He _promised_. He said she was his precious Mizar, the single most important thing in his universe. But he lied. The muscles between her shoulder blades tightened in a rage. Staggering upright, she stumbled away from the alley. 

He may have promised never to hurt her, but she made no such promise. 

Meanwhile, Mabel continued her attempts to calm him. “Dipper,” she said, a dry and nervous crack to her voice. “You’re doing that thing again. Please, I need you to relax. You aren’t thinking clearly.” 

“What thing?” Dipper growled, something heavy weighing in his chest. 

“The thing where you start to get all stupid? You act paranoid and angry because you feel betrayed.” 

“I don’t do that,” he huffed, the angry curl starting to fade from his tone.

“Yes, you do. You did it with Stan when you tried to shut down the portal. You did it with Mabel; you were so upset with her for not helping you with the laptop that you shook Bill’s hand. Remember? You have to control yourself or else you’ll go all scary demon on me and Fang. You'll scare her more if you let those instincts take over.” 

He did remember. He could still see the glazed over sadness of Stan’s expression when he closed his eyes, and heard the panicked screech of the portal. And he could still feel the red hot anger of his cheeks as Bill pried out his soul with one cold and clammy hand. His chest swelled with regret. “I was scared,” he said breathily. “I was so scared about losing you and Stan and I’m scared of losing Fang. I just want her to like me.” The tension in his shoulders loosened and he let his eyes drift to the ground. 

Mabel gave him a knowing smile. “It’s okay to be scared, Dip. I know it’s been hard going hundreds of years without Mizar, that being alone makes you a little paranoid. And then Fang came along and she wasn’t what you expected or wanted her to be. But she didn’t betray you by being herself.” 

Floating a little bit closer to Mabel, he dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder. Her hair curled across his forehead, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. “I know,” he whispered in a childish voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to hurt Fang. I care about her and I know she would never intentionally betray me.”

By the time he said it, Fang was already gone and it was too late. 

\------

She didn’t stop running until she reached the Sanctum. Breaking through the entry doors, she rushed past the library, bypassing clumps of confused Exorcists. Fang turned down a corridor she had only been through once when she was on a tour when she was 12 and finally was permitted to see the entirety of the Sanctum. It was dimly lit with MagiTech candles, and each of her steps on the tiled floor echoed through the hallway. 

And the end of the hall was an old oak door leading to the Sacra Privata, its exterior carved with interlocking knots and swirls. At both ends stood two uniformed assistants in short black robes with white cords at their waist. She bolted for the doors, trying to split between them, when one of the assistants pulled her back. “Trainees are forbidden from being in the sanctum. We’re on lockdown. Go home.” 

“No! Please! You need to let me in! It’s an emergency.” Fang pushed back against the assistant, trying to knock his arm out of the way. “It’s about Alcor the Dreambender! Please! I need help!” 

“This is inappropriate, trainee. You’ll be reported to Exorcist Mace and punished accordingly,” said the other, gripping Fang by the back of her leather jacket and tossing her to the ground. The duffle bag slipped off her shoulder and slid across the ground. 

“I’m serious!” she cried. Reaching over, she grabbed the duffle bag, finding the cultbasher's handle inside. Winding back, she used the base of the bat to jab one of the assistants in the stomach. As the assistant doubled over, Fang broke through the oak doors and into Sacra Privata. 

The air felt thick against her skin, yggdrasil burning in clumps until the smell was sickening. The wall was lined with images of demons from around the world, dating back over 7,000 years: some grimy and tearing victims apart, others with several brightly colored limbs. Physical, old world books were kept preserved behind glass and held down by chains, as if the knowledge inside was dangerous. She had never seen so much paper before in her life, and the lack of synthetic glow from MagiTech was unnerving.

Fang held her breath, trying not to cough up the smoke. The Grand Exorcist sat at a desk, a man with long, greasy hair that covered his shoulders. He lounged with his shirt open, displaying the thick build up of scars across his ashy white skin and the anti-demon mark on his chest. Most Exorcists had it placed on the back of their hand, though members who were chosen specifically by the angel tended to have it elsewhere such as their chest or back. Behind him was a depiction of the angel Bezemal, six hands outstretched in soft yellow light, trying to beckon her inward. 

“You do not have permission to be here,” yelled the assistant. “This is in direct violation of orders!” He grabbed Fang around the elbows, tugging her back towards the oak door. The duffle bag slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground. 

“No, please!” Fang screamed, digging her heels into the ground. Each of the muscles in her arms and back strained as she pulled. “It’s an emergency! Please! I need help!” 

The Grand Exorcist took notice of her, a toothy grin spreading across his face. He held up one hand, signaling for the assistant to stop. Carefully, he let her go, allowing Fang a moment to bend over and catch her breath.

“My dear child,” The Grand Exorcist cooed, voice like gravel. There was a sympathetic twist to his frown. “You are upset. Please, come to me.” She did so, grabbing the duffle bag and coming to stand at the base of the desk. She bowed at the waist, nervous and shivering. “I will not see any child of the Order turned away when in distress. Please, return to your posts.” This caused the assistant to flush a deep, embarrassed red. Spinning around, he walked back through the oak door, head hung low like a scolded child.   
  
Still positioned in a bow, Fang slowly rose to a stiff and upright position. "Thank you, Grand Exorcist."   
  
The Grand Exorcist returned his attention to her with one sharp blue eye, the milky from an old injury. “Ah, I recognize you now. You’re Fang Wu.” 

She swallowed. Her mouth tasted like bile. “I am.” 

“I’ve heard many good things about you, Fang. You’re supposed to be a very talented young Exorcist." He interwove his fingers and leaned forward with his elbows on his desk. "Now tell me; what seems to be the problem?” 

“I have a confession to make, Grand Exorcist. I’ve broken the Sacred Duties. I have been lying,” she spoke with sharp purpose, as if to cover the well of tears forming at the back of her eyes and throat. 

He raised an eyebrow, his expression both confused and curious. “About what?” 

She sucked in a breath, lungs stinging with hesitation. “I am the incarnation of Mizar. It’s me you’re looking for.” 

“Oh?” A sudden interest carved its way into his smile. “How do you know for sure?” 

“Alcor came and told me himself.” She spun her duffle bag over her shoulder, pried the cultbasher out by its handle, and placed it on the table, pink glitter shattering downwards. “I’ve brought Mizar’s sacred weapon.” Then she pulled the god’s eye out from under her shirt, the volatile and angry eye glaring outwards as she held it by the string. “And the eye of a dead god, as proof.” 

The Grand Exorcist pondered this, passing his boney hands over the items, but never touching them. “Ahh yes. I can sense their history.” He rose up from his chair, and beckoned her forward. “Please, come closer, my dear, I want to witness this for myself.” He reached out with one bony hand, fingers layered in iron rings. Fang stepped out of his way, staring at him with a watchful gaze. “You have nothing to fear. You are in no danger from me.” She eased towards him, close enough so that she could feel his rank breath on her face. He held his hands out in front of her as if running them along a cosmic barrier. “I feel the demonic energy surrounding you, it is old and powerful. Already Alcor has already begun to tear himself into you.” He lowered his hands, staring at her with a thoughtful gaze. “I have a question for you, my dear: are you not afraid of me? I’ve given orders to kill you. Why have you decided to come forward?” 

She swallowed, her mouth tasted like dry smoke and metallic blood. “Because I want to kill Alcor the Dreambender.” 


	7. The Mark

The Grand Exorcist laughed with glee, leaning back against his desk. His laugh was a shrill and high pitched screech. “How wonderful!” He clapped his hands together, “Tell me why!” 

Fang withheld her shock. She hadn’t expected The Grand Exorcist to take to her revelation so well, let alone to laugh at the notion that she might want to kill Alcor. Whenever he came out into the public, to make announcements or to perform blessings on the community, he was always very calm and humble. He smiled only to appear reassuring, but he never laughed. 

“He,” Fang began, unsure of how to tell her story. “He has decided he doesn’t want me anymore. I overheard him talking to Ma…” she physically bit her tongue. “To someone, maybe another demon, that he was done with me and wanted to rip out my soul. I was so stupid. I believed everything he told me about how much he loved Mizar. I let him trick me. But it ends here. I’ll draw first blood and I’ll never let him hurt anyone ever again.” 

The smile on The Grand Exorcist’s face was smug and pleased. Weaving his fingers together, his iron rings clattered, outlined with the same runes that Fang had in her earrings. “You have the soul of an Exorcist. I am so grateful you came to me. The angel has granted you a sacred task. With Mizar on our side, killing Alcor will be easy.” 

Stepping back, Fang raised an eyebrow at him. Her hand hovered over cultbasher’s handle. “And you promise not to kill me too?” 

“How could I? What you have done will save countless lives; end the demonic reign of terror in our dimension!” Laying his boney and graying hands on her shoulders, he looked at her with one pale, milky eye. “My dear Fang, I will do all in my power to protect you. You have nothing to fear, you are safe with me.” 

She averted her eyes to the tiled floor. “Then tell me what I need to do. I am at your mercy.” 

He thought for a moment, his toothy smile becoming more contemplative. Slowly his hands drifted from her shoulders and down to her chest. His fingers played around the god’s eye, twisting it around so that the light would shimmer across it. “This talisman grants you protection from omniscient beings. It is strange that Alcor would give you such a precious gift, especially one that removes much of his power over you.” The god’s eye slipped from between his fingers and thunked against her sternum. 

“He wanted me to blindly trust him. He never expected that I would turn myself in.” 

“You must use it to your advantage. He must not anticipate your intentions. I want you to draw out his name and bring it to me.” 

The words stumbled from her lips. “His name?” 

“All demons are susceptible to their true name. Get him to tell you what it is, and I will handle the rest.” 

A hollowness rose up in her chest. When she imagined what a demon’s true name might be, her guess was that it would be a garbled mess of sounds from a strange and inhuman language. She had never once considered what Alcor’s real name was, but she was certain of one thing: it would be the name of a human. 

“Isn’t there another way?” she asked. “He doesn’t like or trust me, I don’t think he would ever tell me his name.” 

“Alcor is far too strong for us to battle with weapons alone. We need his name. You must make him trust you,” The Grand Exorcist urged. Slipping one slender finger under Fang’s chin, he forced her to look upwards at him. “Use the skills you have learned in deception and manipulation training to make him trust you. Put on an act. Fawn over him. Make him believe that you are irreplaceable. And do it quickly. Alcor may be blind to your intentions, but he is still a demon." 

“Yes, Grand Exorcist.” 

“Good.” His harsh grasp turned into a soft coddle, as he cupped his hand at her cheek. “Now go,” he urged. Reaching over, he grabbed cultbasher from the desk and dropped it into her hands. “I will see to it that no harm is done to you.” 

\------ 

The sun had gone down by the time Fang came home. Only the lowlights were on in the living room, a pale and dim glare across the couch and hard, blackcoffee table. Her limbs dragged with exhaustion across the floor. Letting the duffle bag (with cultbasher still inside) slip from her fingers, Fang collapsed onto the couch, too tired to even walk to her bedroom. The fabric was scratchy against her skin and it smelled mostly like dust. But she was grateful just to have a place to lie down. Her shoulder ached from carrying the cultbasher and despite not eating all day she felt like she might throw up. 

Pulling her MagiOrb from her pocket she read through a barrage of nameless and numberless messages: 

_‘Fang? Are you still coming?’_

_‘Did something happen?’_

_‘It’s been an hour. I'm worried.’_

_‘I’m getting lots of summons. I can’t keep waiting. Another time I guess. I hope you're okay.’_

He seemed concerned about her, though she supposed it was all a facade to make her trust him. Turning off her MagiOrb, she tossed an arm over her eyes to block out the light and groaned. She kicked off her boots and let them drop to the ground with a satisfactory thud. For a moment she limply laid there, trying to count the knots in her stomach. 

Eventually, she rummaged in the pocket of her jacket, pulling out a small square of paper. As much as she wanted to put this moment off, she had to move forward. It was the summoning circle Alcor had given her, as he had insisted she keep one on her at all times should there be an emergency. She dragged her finger along the edge. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the symbols in the center made her feel calm. A shooting star and a pine tree. She knew he liked pine trees, but she couldn’t think of a reason for the star. Perhaps it had something to do with his name… oh right… his name. 

Sitting upright, she grabbed her knife from its holster and jabbed the tip into the pad of her finger. When a drop of red blood gushed through, she smeared it against the circle. She licked her finger clean of the rest of the blood and then chanted. Usually she spoke Latin with perfect ease, but now she could barely manage to form the sounds. 

The circle lit up blue and she shivered with anticipation. Rather than smoke or fire, Alcor’s voice curled through the air with no discernable source. “ _You’ve reached Alcor the Dreambender. I can’t come to the circle right now. Please leave a message after the,”_ the recording warped and turned, a discordant screech in her ears. 

When the screech stopped, Fang sucked in a breath. “Alcor? It’s me. It’s Fang. Or actually… I guess you would know that considering I used the special circle.” Realizing she was stalling, she cleared her throat. “I’m really sorry I didn’t come today. I got held back at Exorcist training. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging and I really do want to talk to you. If that’s ok. Tomorrow at 5 pm… in our usual spot?” Looking down, she was unsure of what to do next. “Uhm. I don’t know how to hang up so I’m just going to destroy the circle.” Picking up the paper, she ripped it down the middle, causing the answering machine to suddenly cut out. 

Laying back down, Fang was unsure if she felt relieved or terrified that he didn’t come. The lowlights felt uncomfortably bright in her eyes. She wanted to sleep. But sleep meant being one realm closer to him. Eventually, though, she drifted, far too tired to stay awake despite the gnawing discomfort in her gut and the burning lights overhead. 

\------ 

When Fang woke up the next morning, she was still curled on the couch, her clothes sticking to her skin with sweat. She’d slept well into the afternoon, having missed the majority of the school day. Not that anyone would care if she did ditch. She laid there for as long as she could, her eyes aching for more sleep and her ribs tightening around her lungs with anxiety. The inside of her mouth tasted dry and stale. Eventually she propped herself up on one elbow and tried to yawn herself awake. 

There were two messages waiting for her on her MagiOrb. One was from The Order, sent out to all members and trainees. _‘Update: Mizar has surrendered and the kill order has been revoked.’_

The other was from Alcor, and it made Fang feel sick to her stomach. _‘Yes. Absolutely. I will be there. There’s a lot I want to talk about too. I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried something had happened to you.’_

With a heavy sigh weighing down in her lungs, Fang pulled herself from the couch, each of her joints aching with each motion. She shuffled her way to the bathroom, flicking a hand towards the MagiTech panel on the wall to turn the lights on. Her reflection lit up in the mirror, like the sudden appearance of an apparition. It was pale and disheveled. Her eyes were puffy and smeared with thick layers of eyeliner and mascara. One of her signature pigtails began to fall loose from her skull, the elastic band resting just near the fringe. Yanking both of the pigtails free, she let her oil slick hair fall just to her jawline. She turned the fresh water tap on and washed her face in ice cold water until her lips turned blue, scrubbing away at all the makeup and trying to make the puff in her eyes go away. 

When she looked up again, she felt completely bare, except for her dark brown eyes. Her _eyes._ There was something familiar about her eyes. She reached out with one hand, there was definitely something haunting about her reflection. It was a like a word on the tip of her tongue. Her fingers tapped against the mirror. 

She looked down at her clothes, every inch of her covered in black. Instantly, Fang rushed out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. Throwing open her closet door, she rummaged through each drawer, each nook. It looked like a black hole, sans the occasional wink of silver spikes and studs from a leather jacket. She unearthed an old, thick black, cotton sweater with a small hole towards the hem and a pleated gray skirt that she hadn’t worn since she was 13 and then rushed back into the bathroom. 

After a shower, Fang changed into her makeshift outfit. It made her arms feel uncomfortably warm and her legs uncomfortably cold. She did her makeup again, forgoing the layers of eyeliner for mounds of blush against her cheeks. She sectioned off her hair and pulled it up into horn-like pigtails, making sure to use the bright pink elastic bands that came in the package (but she never had a use for). 

Checking her reflection, Fang tried to swallow the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She told herself it was hunger, and not a feeling of fear or regret. She walked back out into the living room, grabbed her messenger bag from the floor (but forgoing cultbasher, leaving the bag out in plain sight). Lacing the strap of her bag around her shoulder and chest, she swallowed her nausea and left the house. 

\------

Fang waited at the meeting spot for over an hour. She didn’t know why she got there so early. Maybe she felt restless or maybe she was too afraid to let him get there first, afraid of what she might overhear. The alleyway was cold, or maybe she was the one who was cold like a dank basement or being stuck in a car with the air on. Either way, she sat with her back up against a concrete wall, and tried to pull the skirt over her knees. The thick knee high socks she tried to wear still weren’t enough to battle the drafty feeling. 

The air temporarily warped and shimmered, and then in a snap of blue light Alcor and Mabel appeared in the alleyway. Mabel a bright red sweater alongside her usual skirt and her cheeks were still delightfully pink. Alcor looked over to Fang and jumped in surprise, black sclera becoming large and buggish. He hadn't been expecting her. Good. 

“Hi,” she said, voice firm and attempting to hold eye contact with him. She stood up and dusted off the skirt. 

“Hi,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hi!” Mabel said, far too cheerfully. 

He kept his distance, hands folded together. “You’re here early.” 

“I had nowhere else to be,” Fang said with a shrug, folding the sweater around her fingers. She was uncommonly cold, even for the damp alleyway. The cold was somehow underneath her skin. "And I was anxious to see you." 

“Is everything okay?” You look like Ma-- I mean, you look different.” He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, trying to get a better look at her. 

She looked down at the ratty sweater and dinky skirt. “What do you mean? Is there something wrong with how I look?" She reached up to the top of her head. "Are my pigtails lopsided?" 

"No," he said. "Is just that, well uhm, I just never considered you to be the type to wear a skirt." 

“I think she’s rocking a look,” Mabel added. "I myself am fond of the sweater skirt combo." 

He opened his mouth to speak, and then quickly changed his mind. “That doesn’t matter. You look good-- I wasn't trying to say you looked bad or anything. Just that you look..." Alcor sighed in defeat and recomposed himself. "Tell me about what happened yesterday and the kill order. Are you okay?" 

Shifting back her weight onto the heels of her sneakers, Fang pursed her lips together. “Right. Well, uhm… they know Mizar is real and they want both of us dead. There was a really important meeting with the Grand Exorcist last night. That’s why I didn’t show up yesterday. It would have been suspicious. If they catch me, I’m done for. They’d have no problem killing me. They kill demons too after all, and they see all humans who associate with them as threats." 

He tapped a claw against his bottom lip. “I think I have a plan.” He turned to Mabel, “We’ll steer them off your path. I’ll take Mabel on a few escapades on the other side of the world. She technically isn't a real person. So they’ll never be able to identify her. And you’re nothing like Mabel, physically and personality-wise, so that should help.” 

“Right,” Fang muttered, mostly to herself. “She and I are total opposites.” 

Alcor turned and looked back to her, a soft curve to his expression. “This is on me. I wasn’t being careful about the cultbashing and now you're in danger." With one hand, he grabbed her by the elbow. His touch was soft and reassuring. "I’m gonna make sure the Exorcists never find out about you. I can’t risk them hurting you.” 

“Don’t worry, Fang,” Mabel said, placing her hands at her hips and posing dramatically. “Mabel is on the case! I’ll convince those Exorcists that I was the culprit all along. I’ll use my attack glitter!” Reaching into her pocket, Mabel grabbed a handful of thick purple glitter and tossed it at the concrete wall, in a puffy cloud of sparkles. 

Fang raised an eyebrow. “How long has she…” 

Alcor shook his head. “I honestly, don’t know," he said, already knowing what was on Fang's mind. 

Fang sighed, fingers still gripping into the sleeves of her black sweater. Pills of polyester gathered beneath her finger nails. She could feel the prick of each cell in her skin, the rattling structure of her bones, and the air clawing its way into her lungs. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. But I’d kind of like to be alone?” she muttered. 

With a nod, Alcor turned to Mabel. “Mabel, could you give us a moment?” 

She looked up from her purple, glitter rain. “Sure thing, Dipper…” a nervous smile covered her face. “I mean Alcor. Because that is definitely the name I call you. Who’s Dipper? Anyway, I’ll just be right over there,” she pointed towards the sidewalk, “definitely not spying on you.”

“Mabel,” Alcor scolded. 

“Fine! I won’t spy at all! Sheesh.” She stomped away out into the open. “You’re ruining all the fun," she called over her shoulder before disappearing down the street. 

Fang looked up at him, a curious stream of light pulsing through his technically invisible body. _Dipper._ She thought it through a few times, repeating the sound in her mind. “Your birth name can’t seriously be Dipper.” The name felt weird in her mouth, both familiar and foreign. “Wouldn’t that be child abuse?” 

“For the record,” he crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at her, “the name Dipper has gotten somewhat popular over the years. And no, it’s a nickname.” 

“Well your real name must really be stupid for you to go by Dipper.” 

“It wasn’t stupid it just never suited me, I guess. People have been calling me Dipper since I was 5.” 

Taking a few steps closer, Fang tried to bridge the space between them. “How’d you get the nickname? Did you double dip your snacks or something?” 

“No uhm…” Alcor flushed a deep red and moved away from her, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. It was disarming. She often wondered if the human habits were all remnants of his former life, from the blush in his cheeks, the awkward fidgeting, and biting down on his lower lip. “It’s actually kind of embarrassing.” 

She stepped forward again, trying to limit the space between them and force him to look at her. “I don’t think you can embarrass yourself in front of me more than you already have.” 

“Alright. Just promise me you won’t laugh or call me a mean name.” Sucking in a breath, he closed his eyes and pushed back his hair, revealing a thin red mark in the shape of Ursa Major on his forehead. “I was born with it… and I guess it followed me into this existence. I’ve always tried to hide it. It’s such a dumb thing to be insecure about, but I am.”

Hesitantly, Fang reached up and placed her fingers gingerly against the birthmark on his forehead. His skin was warm to the touch. It was like a window with the sun streaming through. Using the backs of her fingers, she helped to push the soft tendrils of his hair back. The birthmark was beautiful, like a fine thread woven across his skin. “I don’t think it’s anything to be embarrassed about.” For a moment, Fang was mesmerized. She was so close to him. With his eyes closed, he looked so calm and relaxed. Drawing back her hand, she averted her eyes with shame.

He blinked his gold eyes open. "I don't tell this to a lot of people. I've always been so afraid of showing my birthmark." 

She needed him to like her. To think that she had opened up to him. She couldn't fall for his tricks. He had to fall for hers. “I tell everyone my name is Chinese," Fang replied, forcing the conversation forward. "But it's not. My parents literally named me Fang because Exorcists believe that if you have a scary name, demons will be afraid of you. Guess that didn’t work out for me. Though it could be worse. I know a guy named Bludgeon, but we all call him Bludge.” 

Alcor snorted when he laughed, a little childish in his actions. “You’re kidding, that’s terrible.” 

“Yeah it is. I’ll take Fang over Bludge.” 

“Well I like Fang. It didn’t send the demons running but I think it suits you. You’re sharp and tough. But in Chinese it would mean fragrant, but in a good way, like pine needles.” She liked the way he smiled so playfully at her. The apples of his cheeks were a light pink and the little split in his smile showed off a few of his sharp teeth. 

He was acting differently. More relaxed and eager than she had ever seen him. Maybe he knew she had gone to see the Grand Exorcist was playing along? Or maybe he was just trying to keep her alive a little while longer before prying out her soul. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Maybe I should go by a nickname too.”

“Oh really? What?” 

“I was thinking Mizar.” 

His jaw dropped slightly and his half smile turned into a full, cheesy grin. “Seriously?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I thought you were done and that you didn’t want to do any of the Mizar-sister kind of stuff?” 

She shrugged. “The only way I’ll learn about Mizar is to be Mizar… and I see how much this means to you.” 

Suddenly both of his arms were wrapped around her. There was something about the hug, it wasn’t tight, it was comfortable. She found herself wanting to sink into it, wanting to let her head fall into his shoulder. “Thank you, Fang,” he muttered. “I promise no more secrets from now on. I trust you completely.” He carefully broke the hug. 

“I just want you to trust me like you did with my past incarnations.” The smile she forced up looked completely natural, soft and tender. But in reality she was fighting off the feeling of bile rising up her throat. “After all, I _am_ them. Can you do that for me?” 

“I…” He stopped himself and thought for a moment, no doubt going through the infinite veins of information that pulsed through him. One of his sharp teeth sunk into his bottom lip, a hesitant curl to his mouth and a distant gaze in his eyes. Then he pulled her in and whispered something into her ear. When he spoke she felt no breath but she could feel the words ringing against her ear. Fang tried to restrain her gasp. He pushed her back again, staring her in the eye. “My name is the most important secret I have. But if it proves that I trust you, as much as any other Mizar, then you can have it. Please, be careful with it.” 

His name still rang through her ears like a sharp whine after hitting your head too hard. Her heart raced in her chest. It shouldn’t have been so easy. Why was it so easy? She should have had to coax him out of it. It should have taken weeks, even months. How could he so easily trust her?

“I will be.” Looking down she realized her hands were trembling. 

Alcor noticed too. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.” 

“It’s cold in the alley. That’s all.”

“Well you did wear a skirt. Who do you think you are, Mabel?” 

An empty laugh pulled itself from her chest. “How does she stay warm?” 

“Willpower, I think.” 

Fang hugged herself at the elbows. It felt like she was trying to hold her guts in. “I have to go to another Exorcist meeting. But will you tell Mabel I said I’m sorry? I really do like her… and I feel like I hurt her feelings when I said I wanted nothing to do with her.” 

“She wasn’t upset. I promise. But I’ll tell her.” 

“Okay. I’ll message you later, about when to meet next.” Fang wasn’t sure why, but she grabbed his hand, and gave it a squeeze. 

Then she ran out of the alleyway, making it only two blocks before collapsing onto the sidewalk with nausea. Sweat dripped from her temples and down the nape of her neck.

Pulling her Magicorb from her messenger bag she typed a message to The Grand Exorcist. _‘I have it. I have his name.'_

\------ 

The Grand Exorcist waited for her inside the Sacra Privata, relaxed and appeased despite the roar of murmuring voices from the other Exorcists in the room. Why were they all there? Had the Grand Exorcist called a meeting? Fang paused as she entered through the large wooden door, drawing back her steps. She felt very exposed as all eyes turned on her. 

The Grand Exorcist grinned at her, with an unpleasant twist in his curling mouth and spread out teeth. “Welcome back, dear Fang. News of your success has spread far.” 

Parting through the crowd, her parents rushed to her side. “Mom! Dad!” Fang exclaimed. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone, especially her parents, would find out the truth. 

Looping her arms around Fang’s chest, her mother embraced her in a tight hug as her father came and slipped an affectionate hand to her back. Fang couldn’t remember the last time her parents hugged her, or if it was something they ever did. She could smell the sweat and leather on their skin, and feel her mother’s short black hair brush against her cheek. For a moment it was a strange and surprisingly uncomfortable feeling. Fang often found herself avoiding touch, unsure of what to do when someone got too close. But now she was tired and afraid; and the only solace she could find was in their wrenching grip. 

“Oh, my dear,” her mother cooed, a performative affection in her tone. “The Grand Exorcist told us what happened.” 

“We’re so relieved that you are ok,” her father said, learning into her side. He placed a hand on her head, disrupting the placement of her pigtails.

“It all makes so much sense now,” her mother said, affectionately brushing Fang’s bangs from her eyes. The scarred protection mark on the back of her hand stood out across her pale skin. “Why the wards kept coming down and all the terror in the city. Alcor was hunting you.” 

“But you’re a true Exorcist,” her father continued, a beaming smile on his face. “You saw right through his tricks. We’re so proud of you for coming forward. You will be the Exorcist who kills Alcor the Dreambender. This is all we could have wanted for you and more." 

“Right,” Fang said, hanging limply into her mother’s hug. 

Approaching them, The Grand Exorcist smiled fondly, the yellowish light obscuring his face in the shadows. “What a tender moment. We are all so very pleased with you, Fang. But there will be much cause for celebration later, we mustn’t lose time.” Extending a bony hand to her, he beckoned her forward. 

Releasing their grasp, Fang’s parents ushered her towards The Grand Exorcist, her mother pushing her back and her father physically placing her hand in his. “Go,” her father urged. “The light of Bezemal shines within you.” 

“What’s going on?” Fang asked. 

Her mother slammed her hands into Fang’s back, forcing her to move forward. “Go,” she demanded. 

The Grand Exorcist guided her towards the front of the Sacra Privata, where his desk and the painting of the angel stood. The room was lit only by the yellowing light of real candles, their wax dripping from the hand shaped sconces and onto the floor. Candles were banned in New Portland, and the Exorcists could only use them for rituals and special exorcisms. His desk was clear, except for a swatch of white fabric, an ancient ceramic bowl with a chip off the side, and a glass pitcher of water. The smell of yggdrasil was so intense that Fang had to resist the urge to cough. It made her eyes and throat burn.The other exorcists gathered around, clad in their black robes, knives and pistols of anointed water dangling from their waists. Addressing the crowd, The Grand Exorcist raised Fang’s hand into the air. He spoke firmly and with dignity. “Yesterday, Fang Wu stepped forward and surrendered as the incarnation of Mizar. She has remained loyal to us, true as any other Exorcist. And with that, she lured out Alcor the Dreambender’s true name.” Releasing his grip on her, he turned to her. “Will you share it, my dear? With us?” 

She spoke without realizing what she had said. "No." 

The murmur that followed from the room was like a low growl. “Pardon?” asked The Grand Exorcist. 

“Just because I hate him does not mean I’m willing to share his name. I know how dangerous it is. Only I know it. And only I will use it. And then there will be no more Alcor.” As much as she wanted to hurt him back, she couldn't let his name fall into any other hands. A demon's true name could level cities, destroy worlds or even universes. She promised she would be careful with his name, and that was a promise she intended to keep. 

There was an agitated tick to his grin. “You are very wise for one so young.” He addressed the crowd again, “Fang has proven herself, despite her youth and the origins of her soul. The angel has commanded that she be initiated tonight, so that she may have the full protections of any Exorcist in her battle against evil. She is to receive the angel’s mark; but rather than on her hand, as is traditional, it will be placed on her back where it shall be hidden.” 

“Initiation?” Fang asked. “But I’m not 18 yet. I haven’t completed my training or taken my test.” She didn't even know what happened in an initiation ceremony: it was kept secret from all trainees and outsiders. 

“This is the will of the angel, my dear. You have most certainly passed the most challenging test any Exorcist has ever been given.” 

The Grand Exorcist’s two assistants came to her sides, each one placing a hand to her shoulders and forcing her down to her knees. One of the assistants grabbed the bowl and the cloth from the table, while the other grabbed the pitcher. The water dripped and splashed off the sides and onto the black and white tiled floor. Stepping in front of her, The Grand Exorcist took the white cloth, and held it up to the ceiling in a blessing. “Bezemal, we offer our child to you.” Taking the cloth, he submerged it in the water, and pulled it back, heavy and dripping. The assistant holding the pitcher set it down in a fluid and robotic motion, before grabbing the bottom of Fang’s sweater and yanking it over her head without warning. Fang thrashed, wiggling her head and arms free and the sweater was discarded on the floor. She was thankful to have at least worn a tank top underneath, though she was sure the other members of the Order cared very little. The god’s eye hung around her neck, exposed, staring out into the gathering of Exorcists before her. 

Grabbing her hand, he scrubbed the rough cloth across her arm and down her palm, the water dripping onto the floor. She could smell the oils mixed within it, wafts of rosemary, myrrh, bodhi. “We wash our initiates before the angel Bezemal. We wipe them clean of demonic influence with anointed water. We immobilize evil with the burning of yggdrasil.” Fang thought she was imagining it, but the water seemed to sting. Maybe it was how hard he scrubbed at her arms, face, and on the exposed skin of her back. The water was lukewarm, but as it dripped down her shoulders and against her spine, she felt chilled. Some of the water dripped from her face and into her mouth, bitter and strong. 

Handing the cloth back to the assistant with the bowl, The Grand Exorcist rose to his feet, but signaled for Fang to remain kneeling. “And thus we invite Bezemal unto us, and to bless Fang on her journey.” And then he chanted, the other members joining in in a static-like hum. _"Bezemal magne, tuos nostram. Custodi nos mala in hoc mundo. Sed et gladio et in terra nostra sordes quod infestat. Venite bask lux in forti."_

A cast of yellow light bubbled around Fang. It held no temperature and yet she was sure it was boiling. It was a thick, daffodil yellow that solidified and extended its shape. Little protrusions extending from the light, bursting through like a pair of wings. They were hands, but not just any hands. It was the angel Bezemal. One of the hands extended towards Fang, fingers gently grazing across her face. Fang whimpered and drew away, squeezing her eyes shut. “฿Ɇ ₦Ø₮ ₳₣Ɽ₳łĐ, ₥łⱫ₳Ɽ,” spoke the light, in a voice like echoes in a valley. “₣ØⱤ ł ₳₥ ɎØɄⱤ ₴₳ⱠV₳₮łØ₦.” The hands came closer, up towards her throat. Fang bit down on the inside of her cheek, desperate to stay still. Bezemal’s fingers wrapped around the god’s eye. “ɎØɄ ₳ⱤɆ ₴₳₣Ɇ ł₦ ₥Ɏ ₱ⱤɆ₴Ɇ₦₵Ɇ. ₳Ⱡ₵ØⱤ ₩łⱠⱠ ₦Ø₮ ₣ł₦Đ ɎØɄ.” And then Bezemal broke the string, prying the god’s eye from her neck and tossing it aside. It clattered to the floor, gazing up at her with hatred and denial. 

The hands traced up her arms, but rather than move they seemed to multiply. The hands gripped to her body, pinning her securely in place. They yanked at her shoulders and forced her head down. She could feel bruises bubbling up beneath her skin as Bezemal squeezed tighter. Fang gasped for breath, but felt no satisfaction within her lungs. Her body felt wound like a spool of thread, compacted and restricted. Something felt disrupted inside of her, rattling against her soul. When she tried to move, Bezemal held her back. The angel’s voice wrapped around her mind. “ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ฿ɆⱠØ₦₲ ₮Ø ₥Ɇ ₦Ø₩.” 

Bezemal had possessed her. 

With a voice like rolling tides of the sea, or the sudden release of a storm, Bezemal spoke. “₩ł₮Ⱨ ₮Ⱨł₴ ₥₳Ɽ₭ ł ₱ⱤØ₮Ɇ₵₮ ɎØɄ. ₩ł₮Ⱨ ₮Ⱨł₴ ₥₳Ɽ₭ ł ฿ɄⱤ₦ ₮ⱧⱤØɄ₲Ⱨ ɎØɄ. ₩ł₮Ⱨ ₮Ⱨł₴ ₥₳Ɽ₭ ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₳₵₮ ₳₴ ₥Ɏ Ⱨ₳₦Đ₴ ł₦ ₮ⱧɆ ₩₳Ɽ ₳₲₳ł₦₴₮ ₮ⱧɆ ĐɆ₥Ø₦ł₵. ₩ł₮Ⱨ ₮Ⱨł₴ ₥₳Ɽ₭ ł ₩ɆⱠ₵Ø₥Ɇ ɎØɄ ł₦₮Ø ₮ⱧɆ Ɽ₳₦₭₴ Ø₣ ₥Ɏ ₲ⱠØⱤłØɄ₴ ØⱤĐɆⱤ.” And then in the hushed silence, every gaze, every pair of eyes digging into her, Bezemal added one last line. One last oath. “₩ł₮Ⱨ ₮Ⱨł₴ ₥₳Ɽ₭ ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₭łⱠⱠ ₳Ⱡ₵ØⱤ ₮ⱧɆ ĐⱤɆ₳₥฿Ɇ₦ĐɆⱤ.” 

Fang felt herself light on fire. It burned from deep beneath her skin, meeting at the space between her shoulder blades, like a hot iron trying to pierce from out of her spine. The burning roared so loud in her ears that she could not hear herself scream, or even be sure that she screamed. The taste of electricity filled her mouth and sharp pain darted across her skin. It was agony. 

It felt like it lasted for hours. But when the burning stopped, Bezemal released Fang, allowing her to collapse onto the floor. Her ears rang, she couldn’t hear The Grand Exorcist’s words, only the muffle of his voice. Reaching out with one trembling hand, and wrapped her fingers around the god’s eye, its smooth exterior comforting in her palm. The assistants stepped up to her, grabbed her by both arms, and hoisted her up. They forced her arms into the sleeves of a black Exorcist’s robe, and tied a golden rope around her waist. Usually Exorcists wore white cords, with higher ranking members in red. Then it occurred to her why they changed her color; it was to signify her status as Mizar. The gold was even added to the collar of her robe and sleeves. Her act of betrayal would permanently hang from her. 

The Grand Exorcist smiled, something harsh in the gaze of his one milky eye, as if to mock her. “Welcome to the Order, Exorcist Fang Wu.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone in the discord who helped me jam out on this initiation ceremony, came up with Bezemal's summoning chant! I know I was intentionally vague, but because there were big secrets afoot!


	8. The Close Encounter

Fang woke up in her bed, sweaty skin sticking to the sheets and hair having fallen loose from their pigtails. She couldn’t remember how she got home. She had hoped the previous day had been a dream, but when she felt the tender sting of her protection mark on her back and saw her robes laying across her desk chair, she knew it was all real. Curling into the bed, Fang tried to find solace in her warm blankets. Except she couldn’t close her eyes, feeling constantly on edge. She put a hand to her chest, thankful to find the smooth exterior of the god’s eye, once again tied around her neck. 

The door to her bedroom creaked open, her parents shuffling through, the sound of their boots against the hard tiled floor. “There she is,” her mother swooned. She carried a glass vial with a rubber cork shoved in the top and a slurry of orange liquid inside. Fang audibly groaned, yanking the covers back up over her shoulders. All she wanted was to sleep and forget. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she pulled back the blankets, revealing that Fang was still in the clothes she wore the night before. “Come now, The Grand Exorcist has sent instructions for the exorcism.” 

“Exorcism?” Fang mumbled, pushing herself up on one elbow. Her mouth was like sandpaper. 

“Alcor’s exorcism. You have been tasked with performing it.” 

“Oh,” Fang muttered. She flopped back down on the blankets. 

“I have something that should help prepare you." Her mother held out the glass vial between her two small and worn hands. Gesturing to Fang’s father, she un-popped the cork, sending a hiss of smoke from the vial. “Dagger, help her up.” Scooping one hand under the small of Fang’s back, he lifted her up like a limp doll, before sitting at the head of the bed and allowing her to lean on him for support. “This is an old Exorcist potion. It will give you back your strength and constitution after the induction. Now drink.”

Putting the vile up to Fang’s lips, the smell was bitter and harsh like cleaning supplies and the taste was like moldy orange juice. Tilting the glass, the liquid dribbled into her mouth. It was sour and burning across her lips and down her throat. Fang coughed, tempted to spit it back out but her mother forced more of the liquid down. 

When the vial was empty, Fang took a desperate gasp for air. But the potion was working; instantly she felt more awake, the creak in her joints gone, and the sting of her newly branded Exorcists’ mark starting to fade. “Good girl,” her mother said. 

Regaining the energy to sit up on her own, Fang leaned away from her father. He pressed one hand to her shoulder and moved her so that he could better see the mark burned against her skin. “Only Exorcists specifically chosen by the angel receive their mark somewhere other than their hand. We are very proud of your achievement. You will serve the Order well. Now review your assignment and prepare for the day. The Grand Exorcist has sent instructions to everyone.” Rising to their feet, they both leaned in and kissed Fang on the cheek. It was unfamiliar, how close and tender they had become. 

And then they left. And Fang was alone again. 

She sat in silence for some time, focusing on the pulse of her own breathing. Her fingers itched around the blanket as she stared off into the far corner of the room. 

Eventually, she grabbed her MagiOrb from its charging port in the wall. It flashed red with a vital message from The Grand Exorcist. When she thought about her first mission, she always assumed it would be something minor, but that she would feel the rush of it anyway. This was not at all what she imagined. She never thought she would dread it. Flicking the message up onto the holoscreen, the text rolled passed her eyes:

_‘Exorcist Fang Wu: You are assigned the exorcism of Alcor the Dreambender. You are to lead the target to 618 Western Avenue at precisely 11 am and proceed to the first floor of the building. Perimeter and defense teams will be there to assist you. Give your robes and the weapon of Mizar to Exorcist Dagger Wu and Exorcist Shiv Wu before your arrival.’_

She tossed the message away, and rolled out of bed, her bare feet sticking to the tile floors. Walking over to her closet, she pulled out the first black shirt she could find, a sleeveless one with the name of an illegible metal band screened across the front, and the nearest pair of black pants. Just as she was supposed to close the door, she caught a waft of something old and fragrant. Up at the top of her closet was the pine tree circlet. Reaching up, she carefully pulled it free from its resting place. It had been over a week since she gave Alcor the gift. The needles had turned brown at the tips, and dropped from the branches and onto the tiles. And yet she held it close and took a deep breath. She squeezed her palms around the branches too tightly, causing some of the needles to jab into her hands. 

She could remember how he grinned at his reflection, became so enamored by something so small. But she could also remember how he tried to keep secrets from her. The angry hesitation to his voice when he finally told her the truth. How he spoke so fondly of the sister he wished she was. He wanted Mabel, not her. And he was willing to rip out her soul to get what he wanted. It left her with no choice. 

Fang set the pine tree circlet down on her desk. She changed quickly, stretching to ensure that her clothes were not too restrictive. Checking her reflection in the mirror that hung over the desk, she pulled down the back of her shirt to catch a glimpse at the mark on her back. A fist sized circle with a pattern of interconnecting lines in it. She was never very good at reading runes, but she was often told it meant ‘anti-demon’ or ‘protection’. It was red and scarred, already healed ,but making her skin look mangled and deformed. Looking at her desk, she grabbed one of the little paper summoning circles Alcor had given her and stuffed it in her pocket, just in case he needed a little encouragement to show up.

And when she was ready, Fang reached for her MagiOrb and typed a message. 

_‘I found a better meeting place than the alley. Meet me at 618 Western Avenue at 11 am. I want to try out this sibling bonding stuff.’_

The response was immediate. _‘I’ll be there.’_

She set down the MagiOrb and curled up on the bed, with her knees to her chest. She felt ill. 

\------- 

Dipper sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. His fingers twitched with anticipation. He was pacing around in the air, his head only a few inches from the ceiling. 

“Everything is gonna be okay, Dipping Sauce. I mean sure… you and Fang are being hunted by a demon killing society, composed of her family and community. But emotionally, you two are gonna be fine. I know it,” Mabel said, sitting cross legged on the oblong couch, a spool of black, wound cotton pouring from her knitting needles. 

The two had set up shop inside some tech-guru’s high-end apartment, who was going to be out of town for two weeks. It was absolutely gaudy. Dipper wasn’t sure how, but Scandinavian Contemporary style furniture had only gotten worse in 5,000 years. Most of the furniture didn’t even look functional, primarily dodecagonal in shape with sharp edges or narrow concaves. And almost all of it was beige. He would have much rather stayed in the Mindscape, but seeing that he gave Mabel a human body, he had to find somewhere for her to live without any suspicion.

He continued to pace throughout the room, biting down on the claw of his thumb anxiously. “I’m just worried I’ll lose control again, you know? I have a feeling that something is wrong.”

“Embrace your uncomfort zone, bro-bro. Just relax, have fun, and trust Fang.” She set down her knitting for a moment, an excited grin spread across her face. “How about I take your mind off it. Wanna hear something really cool? I went out for a little walk in the woods last night and you’ll never guess what I found.” 

He groaned and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be spending too much time outside, Mabel. You don’t technically exist and you’re far too friendly to be trusted. You could blow our cover. ” 

“I suppose I did make a friend. But trust me, it was a very cool friend who you might be interested in.” 

“If it was a feral pig, believe me, I’m not interested.” He looked over at the strange geometric clock that also somehow doubled as a light fixture. It was exactly 10:57. He couldn’t wait anymore. He just wanted to see Fang. With a groan, finally stopped pacing. “I’m just gonna go. Fang is probably already waiting for me. We can talk about your feral pig when I get back.” He blipped out of the room in a single blink. 

Mabel huffed out a sigh, picking up her knitting. “It wasn’t a feral pig. And the pig I did see on my way back was definitely house broken… and a little chubby cutie.” 

\------

Alcor looked up at the building with a sarcastic grin. “Yay! A spooky abandoned building.” He gestured, arms out to grey concrete building with the words NO TRESPASSING scrolling across a holoscreen. “This has sibling fun written all over it.” 

Fang looked over her shoulder, careful to be sure that they were blocked from the view of any passersby. There were no signs of the other exorcists, though Fang knew they were nearby and that they were watching her. A shudder ran through her ribs. Fang pushed his shoulder playfully, “Don’t be so negative. I had to find somewhere secret so that we could talk and not worry about being seen.” 

He snickered, wings fluttering with his laughter. “No negative feelings here. When Mabel and I were kids we would go mystery hunting in all sorts of creepy places. So did Belle and I, come to think of it. There was this one time we…” he stopped and cleared his throat. “It's not that good of a story. So what’s your plan for today?” 

“It’s a surprise. But you have to promise not to use your omniscience or else you’ll ruin it.” 

“Okay, okay. Consider my third eye closed.” Fang chewed on the edge of her lip, ripping away some of the dry skin with her teeth. She breathed through her nose, her bangs bustling against her forehead. Her chest felt constricted, breath shallow and ineffective. Alcor cocked his head and squinted, “Are you okay? You look kinda pale and sweaty?” 

Instinctively, Fang put a hand to her forehead, wicking it away with slick sweat. “I’m okay,” she stuttered, sneaking a peak at her MagiOrb. It was 11:02. “A little warm, I think. Let’s go inside.” Holding out both hands, she invited him to hold onto her. 

He did as she asked, dropping his clawed hand into hers. Peeking out from the white sleeve of his suit, she caught a glimpse of a golden thread running across his skin, like a crack in marble. She adjusted his hand, exposing the inside of his wrist. “You have a scar,” she muttered, ignoring the temptation to run her fingers across it. 

“Yes,” Alcor responded plainly. 

“That’s impossible. You shouldn’t have a scar. You’re not technically real. You don’t heal like humans do.” It was in the exact place where she drew her knife on him days ago.

He sighed, “No, I don’t. But my appearance is subconsciously driven, unless I’m focusing I don’t have a lot of control over what I look like. And I guess, on some level, I think I should have a scar there.” 

“Is it from me?” Fang asked. Alcor didn’t answer. He simply withdrew his gaze and nodded. Carefully, she turned his hand back around, hiding the scar from her sight. “Come on, I have something big planned. Close your eyes.” 

“Really?” he chuckled. “You want me to close my eyes?” 

“Trust me on this.” 

He did as she asked, closing his eyes and allowing her to guide him. “If you say so.” 

Walking backwards, Fang guided Alcor through the building. It was mostly dilapidated from a demonic attack several years ago, and left in disrepaired by the government. Her boots left imprints in the dust and dirt and the air smelled like wet concrete and mildew. Everything was gray and depressing. 

Out from behind a few sunken walls, some of the Exorcists emerged, succeeded by The Grand Exorcist himself. They moved softly, like hunting animals, their gaze hungry and violent. Fang squeezed Alcor’s hands, the edges of his claws scratching her palms. One of the Exorcists stepped too heavy on the floor, the clack of their boots echoing through the room. 

“Fang?” Alcor blinked his eyes open, a suspicious and panicked set to his wide and dark gaze. 

“Shhh…” The tips of her fingers grazed his cheek, forcing his attention on her and not on the Exorcists emerging from the shadows. “Focus on me.” She came in close. Balancing on her toes, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin on impact.

And then whispered his true name in his ear. 

He snapped, becoming eerily still, all of his joints locking in place as if he were a statue. There was no expression on his face or in his eyes, but she could feel the confusion and the grief beating off of him. It made the string in her gut that tied them together twist up in knots. 

From behind her, the Grand Exorcist’s assistants emerged from the darkness; one assistant handed her the slick black robe, allowing her to slip her arms in and then secure the fasteners in front. The other held out the cult-basher, nervous to even touch it, their hands loosely gripping the handle. She grabbed it, wary of the rough and scratchy glitter against her palms. The bright pink still managed to flash in her eyes, despite there being little light in the dark and grimy, abandoned building. 

“Excellent work, Exorcist Fang,” spoke the Grand Exorcist. He paced around Alcor, the pucker in his lips thoughtful, as if examining fine art. His sacred sword bounced against his hip with each step. “What a glorious day this is. The Dreambender, caught like a fish in a net.” He turned back to Fang, “Proceed with the Exorcism.” 

She looked to Alcor, trying to ignore his uncanny stillness. “Under the binding of your name, I command that you do as I say.” She paused, suddenly at a lack of words. “Kneel,” she commanded, voice poised and articulate. She didn’t know why she said that. It wasn’t that hard. Why was she stalling? But he did so, dropping to both knees in a single motion, his eyes never breaking contact with hers. 

Inching closer, Fang came down on one knee, trying not to look into the big golden disks of his eyes but unable to pull her gaze away. “I heard what you said,” she whispered, giving up the act of her all-powerful and all-commanding tone. “I was in the alleyway and I heard you talking about how you didn’t want me. About ripping out my soul to bring _her_ back. You know, when we first met, I really believed that you could never hurt Mizar. That maybe we could learn to be friends. Now I see that you were just using me, that I never really mattered. But guess what,” she leaned forward, closing in on the encounter, her nose almost touching his. The black sclera of his eyes consumed her. “I’m not like other Mizars. I’m not going to let you string me along until you decide you’ve had enough of me. I’m going to kill you first. No more Alcor. No more Mizar. It’s over.” 

Standing up again, Fang looked down at him. He looked much smaller, though she knew he hadn’t actually shrunk down in size. But there was something about his high and round cheeks, his wide eyes, and the faint memory of sunburn on his nose that made him look so different. Her mouth tasted sour and her voice cracked like glass in a winter storm. "Put your head down,” she commanded; he did. 

Fang raised the bat. Usually it was perfectly weighted, but this time it felt heavy. 

Looking over her shoulder, The Grand Exorcist smiled at her, and nudged his hand forward, as if to urge her along. “Bring down your weapon and rid this world of evil, for it is the will of the Angel Bezemal.” 

The air in her lungs was stale. She spoke with soft purpose. “Under the binding of your name, I will kill you.” With all her strength she brought the cultbasher down.

He kept his head down, unable to look at her. But she could feel something inside her, a string that started at her chest ran up through her arm. Her body vibrated with fear and grief. Her ears rang with a high pitched whine that seemed to beg in several voices she had never heard before but recognized. _Stop!_

The cultbasher paused, the nails nearly grazing his skin. 

Fang held herself steady, suddenly realizing what had happened. “I can’t do it.” Drawing back the cult-basher, Fang let it fall from her fingers and onto the floor. “I can’t kill him.” Placing both hands to her mouth to hold back a sob, Fang stepped away. There was a soft murmur in the room, as her fellow exorcists looked at each other in confusion. Her face was hot and sticky with dribbling tears. 

“What is wrong, my dear?” The Grand Exorcist cooed. “Are you frightened?” 

Fang tried to rub away the tears, but any time she dried her face more would appear. “I can’t do it,” she sniffled. “I don’t want to kill him.” 

“Oh, Fang,” The Grand Exorcist said, a smooth and kind smile on his graying face. He turned to the others, calm and unyielding in his demeanor. “Kill her. Make it look like an accident. She is no more than a traitor to us. The Dreambender is mine.” 

Grabbing her from behind, an Exorcist pinned her wrists to her back. Fang squirmed around, kicking the backs of her heels into the Exorcist’s steel toed boots. Flinging her head back, she bashed her skull into his nose. A warm dribble of blood pooled from his nose and onto the back of her hair and down her neck. She kicked him in the knee, causing him to break his grip. 

Pulling free, Fang looked over to where Alcor was still kneeling. He hadn’t moved or even looked up, still trapped within her binding. “Alcor, snap out of it!” she shouted. 

Beside him, The Grand Exorcist was whispering a mantra. As he spoke, the air around him seemed to crystalize, with yellow protrusions. It gripped and pulled at him with greedy hands. The Grand Exorcist allowed himself to be possessed by the angel Bezemal. Prying his sacred sword from its sheath, he raised it over his head, the silver exterior winking from above. 

“Alcor!” Fang screamed. Two more Exorcists came up from beside her, grabbing to both her arms. “Alcor! Wake up! Wake up, please! I release you from my binding!” 

The sacred sword came down, only to be blocked by a clawed hand. Alcor snarled with all of his shark-like teeth, golden blood streaming down his fingers from where the blade met his hand; rising to his feet, his great wings unfurling from his back and casting the room in a hard, black shadow. 

Bezemal did not emote, even in a human body. “ĐɆ₥Ø₦₴ ₳₦Đ ɎØɄⱤ ₵Ⱨ₳Ø₴. ł₮ ₩₳₴ ₣ØØⱠł₴Ⱨ Ø₣ ₥Ɇ ₮Ø ฿ɆⱠłɆVɆ ɎØɄⱤ Ⱡł₣Ɇ ₩ØɄⱠĐ Ɇ₦Đ ł₦ ₳₦ ØⱤĐɆⱤⱠɎ ₣₳₴ⱧłØ₦.”

“A̸n̶g̵e̴l̶i̵c̵ ̴j̵e̴r̸k̷,” Alcor grumbled. A blue flame wrapped itself around his hand, sizzling against the blade of the sacred sword. 

The Exorcists holding back Fang’s arms, forced her to the ground. The dirt and dust smeared into her hair and across the back of her neck. She kicked and squirmed, a third exorcist coming to pin down her legs. She could barely see Alcor, just the bursts of his blue flame and his wings fluttering as more swarms of exorcists joined the fight. Casting a shadow over her, Exorcist Mace leaned over to look at her. The red cord was pulled too tight around his pudgy waist.

“Master, please,” she choked. “I can explain myself.” 

Pulling his knife out of its holster, he reached down for Fang’s neck. But rather than let the blade meet her skin, he yanked at the god’s eye, and used the knife to cut it free from its string. He held it in one hand curiously admiring it. “That’s all we needed from her. You may proceed.” As he walked away, he glanced at Fang over his shoulder. “It’s a shame; she was such a talented student, only to be accidentally killed on her first mission.” 

Fang struggled again, trying to kick her legs or reach over and bite one of the Exorcists to no avail. The one holding down her left arm, pointed towards a steel beam propped up against a wall. “Someone grab that! We can claim that it fell on her.” Two Exorcists abandoned their stations at the fight and ran to grab the steel beam. 

Meanwhile, the fight raged on just outside of Fang’s view. Darkness spurted around him like tentacles, yanking the Exorcists out of the way. Most of his attention was on Bezemal and the Grand Exorcist, keeping a shield up between himself and the sacred sword. Golden blood broke against his right shoulder, down his spine and across his left cheek. He’d taken a few hits, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all. With a twitch of his fingers, he sent another fiery blast against Bezemal. When he snarled, the ground shook; but Bezemal held strong, continuing to slash with the sword. 

The Exorcists’ footsteps pounded in Fang’s ears as they hefted the steel beam into the air. They lurked just over her face, their fingertips turning purple with strain. Fang struggled, trying to pull as close to her captors as possible. 

“Tell us when!” shouted a man holding one side of the steel beam. 

“Not yet!” cried a woman trying to pin down Fang’s arm. “She won’t hold still! You’ll crush my fingers too!” 

Fang swallowed, her throat clogged with tears, dust, and regret. She cried out, voice desperate and echoing through the abandoned building. “Alcor! Please help me!” 

Alcor stopped, only for a second, eyes wide at the sight of Fang pinned down to the floor. A slash of bright silver cut around his shield, and dug itself into his gut. Doubling over, he gripped to his stomach, a rich flood of gold blood pouring forth. Bezemal stood over him, sacred sword held high in the air. Alcor staggered up right, the blacks of his eyes consuming the golden disks in a rage. 

“Alcor!” Fang screamed again, the steel beam uncomfortably high over her head. He looked between her and Bezemal in disgust, and then blipped out of existence. 

“Now,” shouted the Exorcist pinning down her arm. Closing her eyes, Fang cowered, hoping she wouldn’t feel the impact. 

There was a loud thud that reverberated throughout the room. She had felt nothing, but was still aware of her own breathing and consciousness. Blinking her eyes open, Alcor leaned over her, the blood from his wounds dripping against her skin with a painful sizzle. The steel beam had hit him, but caused no damage, merely sliding off his shoulders and toppling onto the Exorcist at her right, who yelped in pain as he was crushed. 

Holding out one hand, Alcor summoned the cultbasher from across the room, letting it zip perfectly into his palm. The moment he made contact with it, it bursted into blue flame, intertwining with the nails. He slashed at the remaining two Exorcists with the cultbasher, burning at their skin and getting them to back away long enough for him to wrap one hand around Fang’s wrist and teleport them out of the building.


	9. The Pine Tree Circlet

The landing wasn’t graceful, the two smacking onto Fang’s bed. Dipper’s forehead smacked into hers and her elbow dug into his side. He dropped cultbasher onto the floor, afraid of accidentally stabbing her with it. It was quiet for a while, Dipper wasn’t even sure how long. The air was filled only with the sound of Fang’s rattling breath. Curled up on the bed she kept her distance from him, turning her back to him and tucking her face into a blanket.

Her bedroom was the only place Dipper could think to go where they might have a moment of peace. It wasn't a good plan, he realized. He would have taken them far away from New Portland, but his teleportation skills were suddenly weakened. Not to mention he was a little distracted by the demon-killing sword that slashed through his physical form, the steel beam that nearly crushed Fang, and oh yeah… the fact that she betrayed him. Thinking of any reasonable plan was out of the question. 

He watched her gasp for air and the violent tremble that shook through her shoulders. Her face was slick with dirt and an orange combination of red and golden blood. With a groan, he floated away from her, clutching to the slash running across his stomach. He knew the wound would eventually heal over, it would take way more than a single cut from a sacred sword to take him down. But in that moment, it stung and exhaustion hung off him like a dark, storm cloud. 

Fang slowly propped herself up onto her elbows, and then upright with her back against the wall. The god’s eye was gone; the Exorcists must have taken it from her, meaning they could now hide from his omniscience. Fang sniffled, face wet and grimy. She tried to wipe away the dirt and blood with the back of her hand but it only smeared. Looking at him, she took a deep but unsteady breath. “Alcor, I…” 

“Shhhh. I really don’t want to talk about this right now,” he grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. He was tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuinely tired. 

“You’re hurt.” 

“Obviously. Sorta what happens when all your energy gets drained from someone using your true name against you and then getting stabbed!” 

At first Fang flushed a deep red. He watched her chew on her bottom lip and look away, ashamed. Then she reached out towards him. “At least tell me what I can do to help.” 

Dipper jerked away, refusing to let Fang touch him. He let his gaze trail about the room across her electric band posters and the dreamcatcher that she obviously hung back up on the wall. Amid the pile of jackets on her desk and stack of ancient books, sat the pine tree circlet. It was brittle and dying, only a few of the needles left clinging to the weak branch. He could still smell the memory of it. Literally, Fang’s memory had been burned into the object. And despite all that had happened, the memory was still sweet, and tender, and alive. He could feel its emotional charge like lightning brewing in a thunderstorm. Dipper pointed to it. “Burn that.” 

“What?” There was startled gasp to her response. 

“It’s made out of pine needles. They’re sacred to me, remember? Plus, its got all that good emotional energy in it. It's like vitamins-- it will help." Dipper held out one hand to her, still refusing to make eye contact. “I’ll also need your MagiOrb.” 

Reaching into her pocket, Fang pried out the MagiOrb, a small crack tracing along its rounded exterior. He flicked the holoscreen upwards, a message flashing through the screen before he even typed it and sent itself on its way. Meanwhile, Fang pulled a lighter out from one of her desk drawers, clicked it, and let the small orange flame ignite the browning pine tree branches. The moment the circlet began to blacken and wither, he felt a sudden revitalization. The memory had turned to sweet smoke, and he readily welcomed it. The energy rolling in thick waves felt nervous, but gentle. 

Dipper kept an eye on Fang as she tried to control the fire, keeping it from burning away at her desk and other belongings. Rooting through another drawer, she found an empty glass jar (that once likely held anointed water). Popping off the top, she broke off the flaming bit of the circlet and crammed it inside, letting the smoke congeal along the sides of the glass. The way she moved was peculiar, each motion short and somewhat jerky, as if she were wincing. There was blood and dust smeared in the back of her hair, and he could now more clearly see the lines of purple fingerprint bruises that rimmed her arms. But there was something red and charred just at the base of her robes, at the space where her shoulder blades met. He squinted at it, trying to get a better look. It made him feel… wrong.

After adding a few more needles, Fang turned around to offer the jar to him. “What happened to your back?” Dipper asked. 

She drummed her black painted nails, all chipped or broken against the edge of the jar. “I… Something must have happened when they pinned me down.” 

Taking the jar from her hand, he took a deep breath of the smoke, trying to remain calm and steady for a moment. Then he raised an eyebrow at her. “You're lying." 

“Fine,” Fang said. Sitting at the edge of the bed. She let her robes fall to her elbows as she reached back with her arm and pulled down the back of her shirt, revealing a circular pattern burned into her skin. It was raw and scabbed over, turning a deep red at the edges. “Please don’t be… They didn’t give me any choice,” she whispered. “I went to the Sanctum last night and they held an initiation ceremony without telling me.” The sound she made sounded almost like a choke, but Dipper realized she was holding back another sob. “Bezemal possessed me and burned the protection mark into my back. If I had known I wouldn’t have--” 

He cut her off. “This is an angel’s mark, Fang! It’s no protection mark. If I touch it I’ll burn, I can’t get rid of it. It means Bezemal owns you and can possess you at any moment, ” he paused. “Or well, he owns your body. He can’t own your soul.” 

“Because you own my soul. Right?” she countered. 

Dipper sighed, “Yes. I do.” 

Fang ceased to pull down her shirt and tucked her robe back on her shoulders, wincing as she did. But she kept her back facing him. “Why?” 

He spoke softly, but quickly, desperate to not relive the memory again. “It was when Mabel and I were kids. There was an accident and she got hurt, badly. She wasn’t going to make it unless I did something right away. But saving someone from the brink of death is a high price, so she sold me her… your soul, technically. It was the only option we had. I couldn’t just let her die. Not when she was so young. And if I did, it would have been all my fault.” 

Hunching her shoulders together, Fang sighed. “It’s always about Mabel, isn’t it?” 

“She was my _sister_ ,” Dipper snarled. 

Snapping around, Fang had venom in her dark brown eyes. “And what am I? Huh? All I am is a vessel for Mabel! That’s why you wanted to rip out my soul! Because it was never my soul, it was hers!” 

“You are impossible! Do you know that? You are so selfish and irrational!” Dipper shouted back. 

“Oh I’m the irrational one? I don’t recall stalking someone’s soul throughout my infinitely long life! Sounds to me like you’re a little obsessive.” 

Something down the hallway creaked, and the two instantly silenced themselves and instead huddled together. Dipper floated towards Fang’s side, setting down the smoking jar of burnt pine needles, while she picked up the cultbasher and held it in the ready position. They both held perfectly still, as if they had practiced this before. The door squeaked open, a black boot first emerging, followed up by two bodies. 

Dipper watched as the cultbasher momentarily slipped, in Fang’s hands before she reestablished her grip. “Mom. Dad.” She tried to speak in a firm voice, but instead came off as wavering and uncertain. Her arms trembled as she held up the bat. “Stay away from us.” 

It was the first time Dipper had ever seen her parents, or really paid them any mind. Sometimes he heard their voices come down the hallway. Or when Fang told stories about them he never felt the need to apply faces to them. Fang mostly resembled her mother, a short woman with an otherwise powerful frame. But she shared her parents’ feathery, oil-slick black hair and endlessly dark brown eyes. 

“We figured you’d be here, traitor,” her father spat, prying a knife out from the holster attached to his hip. 

Her mother grabbed a pistol loaded with anointed water and pointed it at Dipper. “Demon scum,” she hissed, finger itching around the trigger. 

“Mom, Dad. Please don’t do this,” Fang whimpered, the cultbasher jittering in her unsteady hands. “Please. I know this doesn't look great but you have to trust me! I'm your daughter. Listen to me. Please!" The roar of her Mindscape was deafening as her thoughts spiraled and thundered around her. It consumed him, constricting around his reality. Her aura faded to a nauseating mustard yellow. 

Her father raised the knife, fingers placed against the handle and ready to propel it across the room. “Fang!” Dipper screamed, grabbing her around the waist, and holding up a hand to shield her. The knife plunged into his palm, anti-demonic runes burning against his skin with a sizzle. He reeled back, gripping to his hand and a hiss sneaking through his teeth. “Seriously?” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Can’t I catch a break for 10 minutes?” 

Prying the knife out of his hand, Dipper let the hot blood pool between the folds of his fingers and down his clawed nails. He felt like fire-- he was on fire, blue flames licking at his shoulders and face. He could feel Fang’s hot breath against his shoulder, the startled gallop of her breathing. She still held to the cultbasher, keeping it out at arms length. 

Fang’s mother fired the pistol of anointed water first splashing Dipper in the shoulder. It stung and sizzled away at his skin. Fang stepped in front of the blast, the water sliding down the rubbery exterior of her robes. She grabbed the knife from his hand, the handle slick with his golden blood, and threw it at her mother. The blade of the knife nicked across her fingers, causing her to drop the pistol. 

A moment later, her father barreled into her at full speed. He grabbed her by the shoulder, one hand moving up around her neck. His fingers dug into the flesh around her esophagus. She kicked at his legs and jabbed cultbasher’s handle into his side to no avail. Dipper reached over, grabbing her father by the back of his robe and tossing him backwards into Fang’s mother. 

Dipper reached out an arc of shadows following along the curve of his fingers. The shadows crept themselves around their throats and restrained their arms. As angry as he was at Fang, he couldn't deny the sympathy he felt for her. She was just a kid raised in a cult, who's parents felt no remorse or hesitation in killing her. He didn't want to believe it could justify her actions against him--why she was so quick to betray him. But it all made sense. No one in the world cared about her; and she was afraid.   
  
He directed his attention at her mother and father. “I can't believe you would consider killing your own child! You’re monsters,” he growled. Clenching his fist, he sent the shadows up in flames. Her parents screamed and writhed as the fire licked away their flesh. Their bodies blackened and crumbled, caving in on themselves into a heap. The air smelled like cold and burning. 

Fang coughed, clutching at her throat. She looked over, the blue fire reflected in the mirror of her brown, watery eyes. “They tried to...” she whispered. A tremble coursed through her. It was so violent that she could barely keep herself standing. “Y-you…” she stuttered. 

He moved over to her, slowly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal. But Fang was paralyzed, unable to move. He placed two fingers to her cheek, fingers slick with his own blood, and forced her gaze onto him. “They weren’t going to stop until you were dead. I'm sorry.” She didn’t say anything, but he could feel the thought spiral turning like a tight screw in her mind. 

Outside her bedroom window, white lights flashed from the street followed by a wailing siren from Exorcist patrol cars. He flicked the fire out behind him, the blue fire suddenly turning to black soot and smoke. “We need to go. Now.” Grabbing Fang by the arm, he forced himself to teleport one more time. He could barely make it to the sidewalk outside her house, feeling his body start to chip and pixelate away. They stumbled onto the concrete, Fang sliding back onto her elbows. It was strange to see daylight, the rest of the world moving along while he and Fang fought for their lives. It was disturbingly mundane. 

The white lights inched in closer to them, the patrol cars coming just around the corner. “They’re coming,” Fang said, breathily. She braced the cultbasher against the ground, using it to push herself up. “We’ll be caught.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” Dipper said, looking out at a pair of headlights coming down the opposite road. He counted down on his fingers, still slick with gold blood. 3… 2...1. 

The engine roared and the hover-fans whirled as the car pulled up to the curbside. The side door sprung open. “Did someone order a getaway driver in a stolen car?” Mabel called from the driver seat. 

“Get in,” he instructed Fang, ushering her into the back seat. “I don’t have the strength to teleport us all the way so this will have to do.” He looked over to Mabel, not wasting a second. “Drive.” 

“On it!” she said, pressing the button on the control panel to speed up. 

He floated over beside her in the passenger seat, finally tearing himself from reality and residing in the Mindscape. The hollow nothingness was pleasurable for once. Pain was supposed to be fun and liberating, but today he just found it to be an ongoing nuisance. 

The car took off down the street, and not a second too soon as the Exorcists arrived just moments after them. He looked over his shoulder at Fang, huddled in the backseat with her head tucked down to her knees. Not a sound escaped her lips, only the hum of the engine stood between them. Dipper laid back against the nothing, closing his eyes for a brief moment and simply existing in the quiet. 

Mabel drummed her fingers against the control panel, sticking her tongue into her cheek. “So,” she said, drawing out the sound of the word. She toggled the control to the left, turning the car down a residential road. “You two seem… quiet.” 

Dipper and Fang spoke at the same time, each one pointing to the other and shouting. 

“He wanted to rip out my soul!” 

“She tried to murder me!” 

“Then he killed my parents in front of me!” 

“Awww, spoken like true siblings!” Mabel cooed. Realizing Fang and Dipper were grimacing at her, she cleared her throat, and toggled the car's controls to the right. “Okay, how about a lighthearted topic of conversation. I know, let’s all share something positive that happened to us. Anyone want to go first?” Dipper looked over at her and growled. “Okay, I’ll start,” she said. “Remember this morning when I told you about the old friend I found in the woods yesterday?” 

“Mabel,” he grumbled. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not in the mood. Just take us to the apartment. So I can figure out what to do with Fang and be done with this.” 

Fang leaned forward in her seat. “What to do with me?” 

“Yeah. I thought we were done with each other,” Dipper snapped back, part of his body phasing through the seat. “Unless I missed some key details in your cold-blooded betrayal.” 

Mabel turned onto a backroad, leading outside of New Portland. “Actually,” she said with a nervous laugh. “That’s what I wanted to share with you. I found a really cool place we can hide out for a while. It might even be a good reminder about the important things in life: like home and family.” 

“Take us to the apartment, Mabel. We don’t have time for this.” 

“Nope,” she extended a finger to boop him on the nose, despite phasing through him. Dipper turned red in the face with anger. “And you are too weak to stop me. But trust me. It’ll be great. Just like old times.” 


	10. The Friend in the Forest

The car came to a stop in the middle of the forest preserve outside of New Portland. Fang slid out of the back seat. The air was warm and sweet with the smell of pine needles and decaying leaves. With each step, her boots crunched against the ground. The sun streamed through the trees, heating up her cheeks, now caked with dirt and dried blood. 

Mabel leapt out of the diver’s seat and walked around the excavated path in the woods. She stretched out her arms, she sucked in a deep breath and spun around, the wind catching her skirt and sweater. “Isn’t it such a nice day out? It reminds me of my mentally reconstructed life. Mystery hunts and throwing water balloons at Grunkle Stan’s head. The kids playing tag with each other in the yard.” 

Alcor hovered to her side and crossed his arms. “Please tell me the forest wasn’t your cool hiding place?” 

“Way to have no faith in me, Mr. Grumpy Wumpus. Like I said, I met an old friend.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Old friend?” 

Ignoring him, Mabel began to pace around the trail. “Oh friend! It’s me, Mabel! Come out.” She whistled, as if trying to call an animal. 

Fang dropped down to the ground, the quake in her legs and exhausted pull in her shoulders too much to handle. She pressed her head against the car, its plastic exterior pleasurably hot. Her mind felt like a ball of yarn that had been tied into knots, or like a message that kept getting erased before it could be read. So much had happened and she couldn’t keep up with any of it. She didn’t know how to feel other than tired and sick. She looked down at her hands, grimy with dirt, dust, and crusted blood. Her throat and neck stung from where her father tried to strangle her. Her arms stung from being held down by the Exorcists and from Bezemal’s possession. Every part of her felt raw, abused, and abandoned. 

She didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to feel sad. Her parents were killed in front of her, she had just abandoned the Exorcists-- her community, her people. But they also used her. They tried to kill her when she was no longer useful. Everything in her world felt upside down. She wanted to cry, but didn't. 

Mabel continued to call into the open air. “Come on out, it’s okay! Look, I brought some very special people with me today.” She whistled one more time, the sound echoing across the open air. 

Alcor shook his head. The gray twist of the Mindscape glowed and curled around him. “Mabel, are you feeling alright? Are you not adjusting to reality?” 

“I’m fine,” she countered. “It just might take a minute.” Then she sucked in a deep breath and shouted one more time. “It’s me, Mabel! Come out!” 

There was silence. And then the ground shook. Fang nearly toppled over onto the dirt, while Alcor looked suspiciously over his shoulder. “Mabel,” he asked. “What exactly is your friend?” 

The ground shook again and again, like the repetition of footsteps. Trees crunched and fell as something lumbered toward the three. Fang rose from the ground, steadying herself against the car. The figure took shape in the distance. It was large and geometric, wandering around on two stick-like legs. It casted a great shadow over the area, and with each step caused the nearby pine trees to shed some needles. It stepped up to them, its chicken legs blending in with the trees. But it was certainly hard to ignore the front door and triangle shaped window on top of those legs. The house leaned forward, as if trying to get a look at the three of them.

“Isn’t this great?” Mabel said, gesturing up at it. “I found the Mystery Shack!” Walking up to the house, she gave it an affectionate pat on the clawed foot. “Hey there ol’ Shack-y Shack. Shack-aroo. Shacktron.” 

“You found the Shack?” Alcor said. Fang had never seen his expression like that before, with bright eyes and mouth slightly agape. 

Mabel shrugged and continued to pat the house on its foot.“Yeah. I got bored and thought I’d go for a nice walk in the woods. And then I heard this loud thumping and sure enough, there it was!” 

“Wait,” Fang said, looking between Alcor, Mabel, and the towering house over them. “Is this…” 

Alcor cut her off. “My childhood home. Yes.” He floated forward hesitantly, unsure of himself. “Or at least it was my home from age 12 on.”

Fang kept her distance from both the house and Alcor, backing up towards the car. “Why does it have legs?” 

“It gathered a lot of magic over the years, but the leg thing is a mystery to me," he spoke very matter-of-factly. 

Mabel snickered and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. A mystery.” 

“Are you implying that I did this?” he snapped. 

“I’m implying that it would take crazy amounts of magic for a building to come to life and start walking around. And I can only think of one person with those kinds of capabilities. Someone who probably got a little bit tired of tourists walking through his home. So much so that he might have accidentally enchanted a house.” Alcor didn’t answer that, but instead turned a pale red in his cheeks. 

Sucking in a breath, he found a new resolve and inched closer to house “Hey, there. Remember me? It’s been a while.” The Mystery Shack looked to the side curiously observing Alcor. And then it stood up straight, stomping its feet and flapping the front door open and closed with glee. It leaned forward trying to make contact with Alcor, its porch and walls almost nudging against him. Alcor laughed and moved closer to it, “It’s good to see you too!” The closer Fang looked, she could see the small bubbles of golden tears in his eyes. He had never been so genuine before. Not with her. 

Rushing over, Mabel grabbed Fang by the hand and pulled her up to the Mystery Shack. "You should say hi too!"   
  
“No, no.” Fang said, trying to pull from Mabel’s iron grip. “I’m not really interested in seeing your sentient house.” 

“It’s okay,” Mabel assured, positioning Fang in front of the Mystery Shack. “Hey Shack,” she called up. It looked down at them. “This is Fang. She’s probably a little different than you remember. But trust me, you know her.” The Mystery Shack titled once to the left, and once to the right. Reaching up with one leg, it scratched itself on the roof with a chicken claw, obviously unsure of Fang. It leaned all the way forward and crouched its legs. Up close the Mystery Shack smelled like must and old wood. Still holding to Fang, Mabel forced her closer and eased her hand up onto the Mystery Shack’s porch. “It’s okay,” she said. “The Shack just has to feel your soul.” 

Carefully, Fang laid her fingers across the splintered wood. The wind around the Mystery Shack seemed to breathe with her. The house looked at her, and then puffed a cloud of old, blackened soot from its chimney. It stomped its feet again and swayed back and forth with joy. 

Then it stopped, flapping its door open and closed between Mabel and Fang. Mabel walked up to it. “I’m not really Mabel. I’m just a representation of her,” she said, as if able to communicate with the Mystery Shack. “Mabel died a long time ago. Remember?” The house nodded, its porch seeming to curl into a frown and the blinds around its front window closing. It creaked and moaned, as if mimicking a sob. “But Fang,” she continued, trying to break the Mystery Shack from its grief. “Fang is here now. And she’s every bit the soul Mabel was. She and Dipper have found each other over and over for the past 5,000 years.” The Mystery Shack peaked open one of its blinds and then another. “And right now, Fang needs your help. She’s in danger. Can you please let us in?” 

The Mystery Shack nodded and dropped down to the ground with a sudden thud, its two legs hanging outwards in a straddle. It’s front door flung open, welcoming them in. 

Alcor pulled over to Mabel’s side. “You can talk to the Mystery Shack?” 

“Well yeah,” she said casually. “The Shack was brought to life with magic and so was I. We’re sort of connected.” She touched both of her index fingers together to demonstrate. “But never mind that, let’s go inside. You both look terrible.” 

Fang took the first few steps up the porch and into the house, holding tight to the cultbasher. She couldn’t say it felt familiar, but it felt peaceful, like a part of her soul that was on fire had been finally extinguished. In front of her was a small living room, a couch and an ancient television set (the kind without holographic projections). And across from that was a kitchen, one that had clearly been gutted and refurbished a few times. The air inside was warm and woody, not like the outdoors, but like handcrafted furniture. To her right, a set of old creaky stairs trailed up the house. It was perfectly preserved despite wandering around for thousands of years. Fang dragged her fingers across the walls, moving from grainy bare wood to flimsy wallpaper. It was like the house was living in different time periods, the technology sometimes dated and clunky, but then she'd see familiar synthetic Magitech lights or an old MagiOrb charging port in the wall. The centuries could be traced through the house. 

Mabel looked around, observing every nook and cranny of the Mystery Shack. “It’s different. They changed so much.” 

With eyes closed, Alcor sucked in a breath. “It has been a while. I just can’t believe I’m actually home. Not a recreation in the Mindscape. Actually, home.” 

“Mmm,” Mabel hummed under her breath. Then she looked up to the roof. “We have to get out of here. Step on it, Shack.” The door slammed shut. Everything rocked and swayed as the Mystery Shack rose to its feet and took the next few steps out into the woods. Turning to Fang, Mabel took her by the hands and guided her towards the living room and onto the couch. “Come on, sit down. If we’re lucky, the Shack might have running water. I’ll try to find some rags to clean you up.” 

Pulling her legs up to her chest, Fang curled into the soft exterior of the couch and away from Alcor. She didn’t want to see him. Taking the sleeve of her robe she tried to rub away the grim on her face. All she wanted was to lie down and cry but she refused to cry in front of him again. Her stomach turned around under her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she had properly eaten something, not that she would be able to keep down anything she had eaten. The silence surrounding them was deafening. She felt hyper aware of her surroundings, the sensation that he was right beside her though he didn’t even possess a physical form.  
  
She looked over at Alcor, chest heavy with guilt. While he had already started healing, there was still a thin layer of gold blood coating his left side. His wings dropped behind his back. Fang swallowed and pushed herself up. “Alcor, please. I--” 

“What were you thinking?” he snarled, cutting her off from saying anything more. “You betrayed me, Fang! How could you do that?” 

“You told Mabel you wanted to rip the soul out of my body. That you didn’t care what happened to me if it meant having her back!” she replied, much more harshly than she wanted to. "You scared the shit out of me! I didn't know what else to do!" 

“Yeah, okay. Blame it all on me! It seems like you don’t care what happens to me either. At least I didn't act on my words and conspire against you!" The shadows in the corners of the living room sprung up along the walls and ceiling, trying to devour any fragment of light. The darkness curled at the edges of his fingers. “What you did was reckless. Do you know what happens if I die? Chaos. Endless power and chaos will leak into the universe to be consumed by other demons or alter the fabric of reality or, worse, I could cause a second Transcendence. Have you ever seen an apocalypse, Fang? Because I have and trust me, you do not want to witness it. Not to mention, you could have died too because of your little plan.” 

“Maybe if you were honest with me and talked about your feelings, I wouldn’t have tried to kill you,” she spat. “You really do have the emotional capacity of a 12-year-old.” 

“Don’t blame me for this! This whole time I’ve been trying to get along with you but you really are the worst! You’re just as bad as the other Exorcists!” 

“You’re right, this _is_ all my fault. Because I was stupid enough to trust demon scum like you.” With wobbly legs and an aching chest, Fang pushed herself off the couch. Lifting up the cultbasher, she held the nails right up to his throat, fully aware he was in a metaphysical state. “I really thought that you were different. You were this magical being who appeared to me and said you loved Mizar unconditionally. And that for once in my life someone would actually care about me! But that was a lie. Demons don’t care about anything.” Mabel entered the room, carrying a bowl of warm water and an old hand towel, just in time to see Fang start to tremble and shake. Fang didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to do anything or feel anything. “And I can’t deal with it anymore. I don’t want anything to do with you. You can rip out my soul, I don’t care. Give it to Mabel or eat it. I don’t want to be Mizar anymore. I don’t even want to exist.” 

Alcor snarled, fingers snatching outwards to reveal all of his claws. “Fine.” He plunged his hand against her chest, the disruption rattling in her soul. It made her feel unstable, like she was hanging on to reality by a thread. She waited, ignoring the hot tears on her face. But then Alcor let go, drawing his hand back. He paused, eyes like two wide crevices and mouth hanging slightly ajar to the tips of his sharp teeth showed. “Fang, I--”

“I just wanted you to like me,” she replied, a wave wobbling in her voice. “Why don’t you like me?”

Setting the bowl on the table tucked in the corner of the room, Mabel ran over, physically putting herself between Fang and Dipper. “I think you’ve done enough, Dipper” Mabel growled at Dipper. “Go somewhere else, just leave her alone.” 

“But--” 

“Go,” she snapped. He drew back, eyes averted and cheeks flushed pink. And then disappeared from the Mystery Shack. 

Mabel loosened the tension in her shoulders. Turning back around, she grabbed the bowl of water. “Come on,” she said to Fang. “Let’s go upstairs. We can find some supplies.” 

She led Fang up the creaky old stairwell, past what seemed to be the second story and up towards the attic of the house. It was mostly filled with old boxes and some furniture covered by dingy white sheets. It smelled like dust and mildew. At the left side of the attic, Mabel unlocked an old, red glass window with a triangle inside and pushed it open, letting a gush of fresh air into the room. Stepping over a few boxes, she opened up what appeared to be a back room and motioned for Fang to join her. The back door creaked open, revealing a smaller room that faced the front of the house, the tiny triangle window letting in a single shard of light. It was stacked high with boxes, but also a dinosaur skull, a half covered painting of a ship at sea, and a few mattresses stacked against each other. 

“I guess whoever last lived here started using this place for storage,” Mabel said with a sigh. 

“It’s an attic,” Fang replied, stepping over one of the boxes. “What else would it be used for?” 

Mabel pursed her lips together and breathed in sharply through her nose. “This was our bedroom. And later my children’s bedroom.” She pointed towards the right side of the room, “My bed was over here,” then to the left, “and Dipper’s was there. Well… not mine, I suppose. But it feels like it was all mine.” Handing Fang, the bowl of water, she gestured to the stack of mattresses. “Sit down and wash up. I’ll check these boxes for clean… or cleaner clothes.” 

Fang did as she was instructed. Slipping the thin, rubbery robe off her shoulders, she wrung out the rag and carefully ran it up her arms. She winced, pressing down too hard on one of her bruises, but continued to scrub anyway. The warm water felt nice against her fingers. Dunking the rag back in the water, she pulled it out, sopping wet, and rubbed it to her face and across the back of her neck. 

Mabel shuffled through cardboard boxes and plastic tubs, discarding each one off to the side. “Aha! Here,” she said, finally opening a box labeled "Gift Shop Crap'. She pulled out a few items, all of them folded neatly together. “These are classics. They might be a little big, but I thought changing clothes would help you feel better.” It was a pair of sweatpants with a question mark logo over the hip and a white t-shirt that said I SAW A COOL STUMP OUTSIDE THE STANLEY PINES MEMORIAL LIBRARY. Mabel shrugged, “Cheesy gift shop clothes sell. You have no idea how many tourists would spill Pitt Cola down their shirt or fall into the stink bog.” 

Fang set them off to the side, “Thanks.” 

Sitting down beside her, Mabel pressed her back into the wall. “You’re not wrong, Fang.” 

“Huh?” 

“All of this. You’re not wrong. What Dip-- Alcor did was terrible. Not just the ripping out your soul stuff; but comparing you to Mabel, making you feel like you weren’t good enough. He’s being an obsessive, paranoid dweebus.” 

Fang looked down at her feet, her black boots caked with dirt. “Why doesn’t he like me?” 

“Because he’s a stupid butt face. Sure, you aren’t like your other incarnations. You wear all black, you don't knit sweaters or throw glitter around. But I think you are exactly like Mabel. You’re tough, you’re crafty, you’re kind, and you don’t put up with his bullshit. That’s right, I’m swearing now. I’m that serious.” Mabel nudged her in the arm, and Fang couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s been looking for her in all the wrong places. He keeps forgetting that Mabel was entirely her own person. She didn’t care what other people thought. Every time he cares too much about who he thinks Mizar should be, she gets further away. And I think he loses a little bit of himself too.” 

Fang dropped her face into her hands, “I don’t know what to do. How do I fix this?” 

“I don't know,” Mabel said, flattening her hands against the mattress and leaning to stretch out her lower back. “I’m not going to tell you that you should forgive him because you shouldn’t. You have to do what's right for you. And maybe that's trying to make things right or maybe that's kicking him to the curb. But I will tell you that he does care, maybe not in the best way. But he does. He's just... going through some stuff, I guess.” She sighed and stood up, smoothing out her skirt. “I’ll give you some time alone to think. But call me, if you need me.” Mabel made her way towards the door.

“Hey, Mabel?” Fang called. 

“Yes.” 

“You do want it, though? My soul? Just so that you can feel real for a moment.” 

She sighed and leaned her back against the doorframe. “I am not Mabel, but I think like her. And I know she has so much to say to him. He needs to know that she’s never left him… but the only person he’d want to hear that from is her. If I could really be Mabel, even for a second, maybe I’d be able to help him see the truth.”

Fang nodded, looking back up at Mabel. “Thanks. If Mabel was half the person you are… I understand why Alcor loved her so much.” 

Mabel flushed, her skin looking particularly pale against her lime green sweater. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, “Thank you, Fang.” And then she walked out. 

The gentle creak and sway of the house was soothing. Fang laid on her back atop the mattress, grateful for the moment of rest and quiet. She wanted to mourn and rest. But as tired as she felt her body was, the rest of her felt electric. She couldn't stay here. 

Sliding off the bed, Fang immediately went to work rooting through the boxes. Many of them were filled with old gift shop nicknacks and t-shirts, while others seemed to contain old printed photos and heirlooms from the family that previously lived inside. At the bottom of one box labeled MYSTERY STUFF in bright pink handwriting. Fang yanked out an old brown backpack, the straps worn and starting to tear. She began to stuff her few belongings inside, her folded up robes and standard issue Exorcist rune knife. Then, looking into the bottom of the box, Fang took notice of an old grappling hook. It was much heavier than a modern grappling hook, and lacked most of the robotic adaptations, but it was a grappling hook nonetheless. She tucked it into the bag.

Quickly changing out of her sweat soaked tank top and into the ridiculous and musty gift shop t-shirt, her foot knocked against the cultbasher. For a moment, she stared at it. And then she left it abandoned on the floor. It was of no use to her now. Then she slung the backpack over her shoulder and quietly stepped out of the room. Creeping over the boxes and old furniture, Fang made her way over to the open, red glass window and stepped out of it. Each step of the Mystery Shack nearly knocked her off the roof. Put she held on tightly, easing her way onto a flat portion of the roof. 

The Mystery Shack came to a sudden stop. The weather vane spelling out WHAT pointed at her. 

“I’m sorry,” Fang replied. “I just… I need some space away from Alcor to think. I need to get out of New Portland and find someone who can actually help me.” 

The weather vane spun again. 

Fang grumbled, “I don’t speak magic house so I don’t know what you’re saying. But I can’t do it anymore. I don’t know who I am or what I’m supposed to be doing. And I definitely don’t know how I feel about Alcor. I need to get away for a little bit. Maybe forever? I don't know.” 

The Shack creaked in response. 

"Mabel said all that stuff about him caring. But I just don't know if I believe that yet." Reaching into the backpack, Fang grabbed the old fashioned grappling hook. Getting a feel for it in her hand, she aimed up at a tree and fired. It missed. She wound it back up and fired again. Miss. Finally on the third try she snagged a branch and gave it a secure tug. “Will you please let Alcor know I’m sorry when he comes back? I just don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

Then she jumped off the roof, holding on to the grappling hook with every bit of strength she had left. The wind roared in her ears and the drop made her stomach lurch. It tugged against the muscles in her arm and shoulder as she swung. Yanking on the wire, she pulled the hook freed from the branch and stumbled the remaining feet to the ground. Picking herself up, she brushed the dirt and pain from her body and started to run back towards the city.


	11. The Circle

Hunched over for breath, Fang leaned up against the side of a building, the setting sun still hot against her face and neck. She coughed, dehydration settling into her lungs and throat. New Portland was starting to glow with nightlife, bright lights turning on and and the solar paneled streets swelled with an electric blaze. By now the Order of Exorcists would definitely be leading a hunt for her. She needed to get out of New Portland, in fact, she needed to get out of Oregon. The nearest police station was 5 blocks to her left, but police meant demonologists-- and Fang wasn’t keen on getting them involved. The nearest bullet train station was 7 blocks to her right, but without her wallet, she didn’t have her pass or the credits to pay. Not to mention the Exorcists would be patrolling that area.

She didn’t think this through. 

Around her, people walked in tight-knit groups, mostly teenagers enjoying their weekend. Most of them licked at ice cream cones from the shop down the street and wore jerseys with colors and mascot for the New Portland High Griffins. That meant there was a football game at the school; if she could sneak in, she could grab her lunch credits from her locker… and not to mention a hoodie to cover up her stupid t-shirt. Fang tried to convince herself it would be easy. All she had to do was blend in with the crowds and not draw attention to herself. She instinctively gripped a hand to her chest, only to realize the god’s eye was no longer hanging around her neck. 

Fang took a moment to fix her hair in the reflection of a window and to tuck in the oversized t-shirt. One of her signature pigtails had fallen out during the fight, so she pulled her hair back into one low knot. While the twin pigtails was a popular hair style among teenagers, it was Fang’s signature look and she had to make herself look less recognizable. Sucking in a breath, Fang marched out into the street, immediately merging with a group of teenagers whom she feigned interest in. They laughed and teased with each other, not taking notice of Fang tagging along beside them. Her fingers itched around the backpack straps.

A white flash of lights blasted down the street, an Exorcist patrol vehicle pulling up across from the ice cream shop. Two black-clad Exorcists emerged from the doors, one of them being an assistant to The Grand Exorcist, and the other one Exorcist Mace. 

“Shit,” Fang muttered to herself, as she crouched down behind a series of cars parallel parked alongside Downtown Street. Slowly, she crept behind the cars, trying to eavesdrop in on the conversation. 

Mace walked up to the ice cream shop, and pounded his fist against the door. “This is the Order of Exorcists! Come out!” 

A woman came up to the door, she wrung her hands nervously around the red pin-striped apron. Her dark curly hair was pulled tight against her scalp, illuminating the hollow fear in her eyes. She looked over her shoulder at a man, who gestured for her to go and followed behind. “Can I help you?” she asked. 

Mace gestured to the assistant, who held up a MagiOrb. They flicked up their hand, Fang’s school picture appearing on the screen. “We’re requesting that all business owners in New Portland keep an eye out for this girl. Her name is Fang Wu. Approximately 5 feet tall, 100 pounds, 16 years old. She’s wanted on two counts of murder and for illegally summoning Alcor the Dreambender.” 

The woman stared blankly for a moment, lips moving but no sound coming out. Her black skin went a little pale in the light of the MagiOrb's blue light. The man shook his head. “We haven’t seen her. But we’ll keep a lookout for all the teenagers that come through.” 

Exorcist Mace nodded, “Please report any tips you may have to the Sanctum. Failure to comply can earn you a fine or up to five years jail time for assisting in illegal demonic activities.” He gestured for the assistant to follow as they went and knocked on the door of the Italian restaurant next door. 

“Fuck, fuck.” Fang pressed her back up against the car, looking up at the side view mirror to watch as the ice cream shop owners went back inside. When the door slammed shut, she looked over her shoulder, watching as Exorcist Mace and the assistant moved on to the next door. 

As the next group of passersby approached, Fang kept low to the ground, and passed into the alleyway next to the ice cream shop. There was a garbage incinerator perched up against the side of the building where Fang decided to hide. It was immensely hot, the closeness singeing at her skin and the smell of burning garbage clogging her throat. She resisted the urge to cough. “This was so stupid I should have stayed at the Shack,” Fang muttered to herself. She pulled up her knees to her head, trying to fold in on herself. It wouldn’t be long until Mace and the assistant did a perimeter check. And if she did manage to escape, the Exorcists would definitely be at the bullet train station or the school. They’d catch her eventually. And worst of all: Alcor hadn’t come looking for her yet. She kept expecting him to appear in front of her, anger sizzling through his teeth. But he never showed. Deep down, there was a part of her that believed he would come. But maybe he really was done with her? She reached for the summoning circle she put in her back pocket that morning, and then drew her hand back. 

The back door of the ice cream shop opened, the woman appearing with a trash bin full of empty cups and discarded spoons. She stopped, taking note of Fang. Up close, Fang could see the individual curls of her hair and the warmth of her skin. Desperate to escape, Fang stumbled backwards, knocking into the incinerator and burning her shoulder. She bit down on her lip to snuff out the scream, hard enough to break the skin and cause a fresh flood of blood to pour into her mouth. 

The woman looked down at Fang, confused and startled. “Oh stars. You’re that girl those Exorcists are looking for.” 

Fang stumbled away from the garbage incinerator. “Please don’t alert them. They’re trying to kill me! I didn’t do anything. I just want to get out of New Portland.” 

The woman tossed the bag of trash into the incinerator and held out a hand to Fang. “Come inside, now.” Her voice was firm and self assured. 

Realizing she was out of options, Fang took the woman’s hand and followed her in the back door. The kitchen of the ice cream shop was cold, and given that the incinerator had just burned her shoulder, it felt good. The woman stationed Fang in front of what seemed to be the storeroom freezer and called out towards the front of the shop. “Tom! Can you get back here? We have an emergency!” 

A moment later, the man appeared with eyes closed and rubbing at his temples. He was tall with short brown hair and a curly mustache resting upon his pale white upper lip. “Every single teenager is out on the streets tonight, Gemma. What could possibly be the--” he looked up at Fang. “Oh, hello there. Cool shirt. I love the Stanley Pines Memorial Library.” 

The woman, Gemma, grabbed a MagiOrb and typed up a statement on it. “She’s the one those Exorcists want and we’re helping her. I’ll take her to the meeting room. You tell everyone that the freezer broke and we can’t legally serve anything until it's fixed. I’m cuing up a sign to put on the window.” Tom nodded, and proceeded in a rather calm fashion for someone who was just told he had to assist a wanted criminal. Gemma then tucked the MagiOrb into her apron pocket, and turned around back to Fang. “Excuse me for a second.” She reached past, popping a few numbers into a keypad next to the freezer. The door popped open, revealing a dimly illuminated room. “Go inside, quickly.” 

“But you said something about a meeting room,” Fang replied. 

“This _is_ the meeting room.” Placing a hand at Fang’s back, Gemma urged her in. 

Fang stood a moment in the mostly darkness, trying to process the last several minutes and listening to her heart race in her ears. Gemma hit a button on the MagiTech panel, causing the room to illuminate in the false glow of candlelight. What Fang thought was a freezer turned out to be a room lined with golden drapery and little metal stars hanging from the ceiling. There were several chairs stacked up in a corner, and a circular, black, velveteen rug placed meticulously over the floor. Across the room was a table, covered in the same black fabric as the rug, with a small decorative box on top. Fang felt her words catch in her throat. “You’re a cult.” She carefully began to slide the backpack straps off her shoulders to grab the knife from inside. 

Gemma grabbed Fang by the shoulders. “No, no, no! We’re not a cult. Please! Don’t be scared. We just wanna help.” 

The door opened up behind her, Tom emerging with arms full of bottles, jars, and boxes. “Ok, I cleared everyone out. Told them a repair droid was coming…” He took notice of Fang, and the fear plastered into his eyes. “She definitely has that ‘oh no this is a cult’ look.” 

“Not a cult,” Gemma pressed a second time. 

“So what are you?” Fang asked. “Because this looks like a cult to me.” 

Gemma bit down on her bottom lip and let go of Fang’s shoulders. “We’re a secret chapter of The Circle of the Dreamer’s Star. Demon worship is illegal in New Portland so we have to hide. Tom and I own this place and are the ringleaders for our chapter.” 

Fang had read about The Circle of the Dreamer’s Star, mostly in Exorcist manuals and historical texts. Exorcism was directly against the worship or engagement with demons, and The Circle of the Dreamer’s Star was the worst of the worst: they were the people who worshiped Alcor. Though harmless, they were to be met with skepticism and reported to proper authorities. “Uh-huh,” Fang’s shoulders tensed as she dropped the backpack straps down into her hands. 

“Please don’t run,” Gemma urged. “We know how dangerous the Exorcists are. We just want to help you. This place is safe and warded.” Wards… that’s how Alcor hadn’t found her yet. 

Fang raised an eyebrow, “And how do I know you aren’t trying to trick me? I’d make the perfect target for a human sacrifice.” 

Tom shook his head. “Because Alcor is strictly against human sacrifice. Especially children. We offer ice cream as sacrifices; that’s why we own the shop. So it isn’t suspicious if we keep huge tubs of mint chocolate chip and orange dreamsicle.” 

Fang chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, still ripe with the taste of blood. They were right to say Alcor was violently against killing children. And that he had a massive sweet tooth. “Okay,” she muttered, taking the backpack into her hands but not opening it. “That checks out. I trust you.” 

Gemma sighed while Tom grinned, the curls of his mustache swooping upwards. “Glad to hear it.” Tom said. “How about you sit down? We don’t keep much of anything that isn’t ice cream but I do have some peanut butter and crackers. You look like you’ve been running for a while.” 

“Oh uhm… thanks.” 

From the corner, Gemma grabbed three foldable chairs and brought them over, while Tom cracked open a water bottle and handed it to Fang. At first she was nervous, each of her exorcist instincts telling her to never eat or drink anything offered by a stranger, but dehydration overcame her and she drank the entire bottle. As Gemma set up the last of the chairs, Tom handed her the half-full peanut butter jar and sleeve of crackers. 

“So there stranger,” Tom said, sitting down in his chair. “I don’t quite remember your name.” 

“It’s Fang,” she said with a mouthful of peanut butter cracker. She hadn’t eaten anything since that morning, and food was the first sense of relief she had all day. It was smooth and salty, and just barely enough to fill her up. She swallowed and wiped the crumbs from her mouth. “I don’t get it. You guys seem really nice. How could you worship Alcor the Dreambender?” 

Gemma snickered, “You seem really nice. How could you be an Exorcist?” 

“How did you know I was a…” 

Gemma pointed to the backpack at Fang’s feet. “The zipper opened up. I can see your robes and knife inside. Though your cord is a peculiar color.” 

“Alright, you caught me. I'm an Exorcist,” she said, desperate to avoid the topic of the golden cord on her robes. “But I still want to know why you guys worship Alcor. He is a demon after all. And demons aren't really known for being kind or interested in humans." 

“Well,” Tom said, stroking at his mustache. “We believe that Alcor is a being of duality.” 

Gemma leaned forward, her umber skin illuminated in the soft, artificial candle light. “The Circle believes in two Alcors.” She held up her left hand. “The first is the Star, a kind and benevolent being who is close with humans. He protects children and families, and spends his days walking among mortals. He's a kind figure and safe to worship.” She held up her right hand. “And the other is the Beast, violent and lost. A being that lacks control and reason. He moves between his two natures; we call it the Myth Cycle.” 

“Cute huh?” Tom grinned. “The language is kept simple so the little ones can understand it. Makes for some good picture books.” 

Fang shrugged, and scooped another cracker into the peanut butter jar. She was starving. “So what causes him to move between these natures? Does he get cranky if he doesn’t have enough ice cream?” 

Tom chuckled. “No, not ice cream. The twin star. His proverbial ‘other half’. Mizar.” The word stung in Fang’s ears. “For as long as the Circle has been around, they’ve kept track of Mizar’s incarnations or, at least, we’ve done our best to. Mizar can be a difficult being to track. The Star always appears when Mizar is alive and always disappears when Mizar is gone. Mizar is what makes Alcor human.” 

Looking at Tom, Gemma continued. “Caring for a human soul, and some sects believe multiple souls, is unheard of in demons. Humans die, he doesn’t. And when people are experiencing grief, isolation, the feeling of being unloved; sometimes they behave violently or irrationally. He’s hurting. Like what depression is to humans." 

Fang looked down at her open bag, the black robe and golden cord peeking upwards. “You think all the violence and killing is because he feels... alone?” She cleared her throat, “So what do you do when the Beast shows up?” 

“Pray and hope that he hears us,” Gemma said casually, folding her hands together on her lap. “Everyone struggles and sometimes we need a little help getting through it. No one should have to be alone." 

By that point, Fang’s stomach had tied itself into several knots. Wrapping both arms around her abdomen, she leaned forward, as if to keep her guts from spilling out. “I understand that. Behaving irrationally… needing help… hurting someone because I felt alone. I've felt so panicked and scared that I've done thing I'm not proud of.” 

“If you don't mind me asking,” Tom said, ceasing to twirl his mustache. “Might this have something to do with those Exorcists thinking you were summoning Alcor? You don’t have to tell us, but we do know a bit about Alcor. Maybe we can help?” 

“No, it’s okay. I'll tell you." Sucking in a breath, Fang sat upright. Her stomach was still twisting and rising up her throat, but she felt confident anyway. Looking at Gemma and Tom she spoke with as much intent as she could muster. “It’s because I was summoning Alcor. I _am_ Mizar. I don’t have any proof, I left the cultbasher behind and the Exorcists stole the god’s eye. But it’s true. I am.” 

Fang counted the seconds in her head that Gemma and Tom were silent. By the thirteenth second, Gemma had put a hand to her mouth and Tom’s jaw had proceeded to drop. “Blessed be,” Gemma muttered. “The twin star has returned. The cycle can begin again.” They looked at each other, scrambling in their seats, as if unsure whether to remain sitting or to kneel, or bow. 

Fang sighed, resting her elbow on her knee and laying her face against her hand. “Except I’m not what you think I am. I’m not cut out to be Mizar. Alcor’s made that clear. I don’t think he wants me anymore. I can't bring back this Star you are talking about."

“What do you mean?” Gemma asked. 

“We don’t get along very well. He wasn’t telling me the truth about who Mizar was and I got angry. And then one day I overheard him talking about how he wanted to rip out my soul to resurrect a dead Mizar. He said he didn’t care about me,” she positioned her other elbow against her knee and ran her fingers up through her hair. "I don't know. Maybe he didn't mean any of it and was just upset or scared. But I turned him into the Exorcists anyway. I stole his true name and wanted to kill him. But I couldn’t do it. That’s why the Exorcists are after me. And then we had a big fight and he actually tried to rip out my soul… so I ran away. He’s so angry I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.” Gripping to her bangs and the hair that had fallen loose from her pigtails, Fang sucked in a heavy breath. “He’s right. I’m not Mizar. All I wanted was for him to like me and I screwed it up.” 

Tom knelt down from his chair, reaching out to touch Fang, but then drawing back his hands. “Alcor can be vengeful and irrational. You can’t blame yourself for that. Whatever he did to you, it’s not your fault.” 

“I’m exactly like him, though. I feel the exact same way he does: alone and unwanted. He and I are the same. I wasn’t open to him or aware of his feelings. And instead of realizing that… I tried to kill him. Just like he did to me. I feel so guilty.” 

Gemma puckered her lips in thought before kneeling down beside Tom, but taking the extra step to put a hand on Fang’s arm. “Have you told him that?” 

Fang shook her head and peeked up from in between her fingers. “Every time we talk we end up fighting.” 

“Not to insert myself into a deity’s business,” Tom said. “But I think you should give it one more try. Really talk to him.” 

“Except I can’t summon him without drawing attention to myself. I can't just summon a demon in the middle of the street.” 

Gemma laughed, a snort under her breath. “Uhm you’re in a secret room specifically designed to summon Alcor. Do it here.”

“But he’s angry right now. If he were to retaliate you could both get hurt.” 

With a shrug, Gemma rubbed her hand on Fang’s arm. Despite the cold air of the ice cream shop, her touch was warm. “Everyone needs a little help sometimes. Even Alcor and Mizar. If it means we get hurt, so be it.”   
  


A big grin spread beneath Tom’s mustache. “And besides, while we worship Alcor we’ve never seen him! This could be our chance!“ Gemma jabbed an elbow into his side to make him go quiet. “Ouch! All you had to do was ask nicely.” 

Fang nodded, “Thank you, so much. I barely know you and you’ve been so nice to me.” 

“You’re not alone in this, Fang. No one is.” Gemma said with a smile. “Now, come on, I’ll have to remove the wards before the summoning. Tom, prepare an offering.” 

Tom rubbed at his chin, “Tell me, Fang, do you think Alcor is more of a rocky road or a cookie dough kind of demon?” 

Fang laughed under her breath, “While he definitely does love candy and ice cream, we might want to save it for another time. I happen to have his direct number.” Reaching into her back pocket, Fang pulled out the small summoning circle he had given her out of her pocket. It was crumbled up with dirt on one corner, but it would work. “Let’s summon a demon.” 

As Gemma went to turn off the ward, Tom retrieved the only candle they had (given that candles were banned in New Portland to decrease summonings). He lit it for her while Fang slipped on her robe, though this time she wore the golden cord with pride. She strapped the grappling hook and knife holster to her waist. When Gemma and Tom gave her the signal that the ward had gone down, she took the knife, pricked it against her finger, and chanted in perfectly practiced Latin. The drop of blood leaked into the summoning circle. 

The circle illuminated a bright blue in the darkness, erupting into a spurt of flames. He emerged; body, black, boundless and furious. Only the gold plates of his eyes showed through the emptiness. “Seriously, Fang!” he shouted. “Now you’re running away! What were you thinking? How am I supposed to keep you safe?”

Mabel popped up from behind one of his wings, “Hi, Fang! I knew you would change your mind and call him! I just knew it!” She bounced up and down on her toes. “It’s finally happening!” 

“No, Mabel!” Alcor snapped. “Help me yell at her! Fang is being stupid!” 

Upon the sight of their god, Gemma and Tom dropped to their knees and bowed. “Lord Alcor!” 

He looked over, taking note of them, and released a visceral growl from his throat. He raised one clawed hand. “Is this because of you? D̴̆͜ḯ̵̼ḍ̵̎ ̷̹͗̆y̵̫̣̔͗ǭ̴̠ú̷̟̂ͅ ̵̞̹͐̏k̶̻͇̐i̴͈̣̔͝ḑ̶́ṇ̴͚̐͒a̵̜̓p̸͙̞̐ ̷̲̞͒h̷̠̏ê̶̢̼̚ŗ̸̎̉?̶̗̯̍” That was when Fang through herself at Alcor, and wrapped both of her arms around his midsection. She nuzzled her face into his chest and let herself fall limp against him. He shapeshifted back to normal, no longer a shapeless beast but a dark-haired, almost-human with sweet round cheeks. “Fang?” 

“It’s my fault.” she said, her voice muffled into his shirt. “I was angry with you and I didn’t even stop to consider that you might feel the exact same way I do and…” Fang sniffled, sobbing into his chest and clutching her fingers around the back of his black suit, just above his wings. “If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.” 

“Uhm. Fang?” he said, keeping his arms above her, as if afraid of making contact. “What’s going on?” She hiccuped and stifled back another burst of tears. “Oh no, please don’t cry. Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell or scare you. Look, I messed this up. I'm sorry. Tell me what's going on." 

By that point, Gemma and Tom had risen to their feet, and were grinning ear to ear. “If we may be of assistance, Lord Alcor,” Tom said, trying to walk towards them. 

Mabel rushed towards Gemma and Tom, urging them away from Fang and Alcor. “No, no. Let them bond on their own.” She shuffled them to the door, much like an overprotective mother. “Also hi. I’m Mabel, the first Mizar. Why don’t we chat a little and let them be? How about I tell you embarrassing stuff about Alcor, like the lamby lamby dance?” She closed the door behind them, just in time to block off most of Gemma and Tom’s stammers and squeals. 

“Well,” Alcor said, though clearly speaking to himself. “That was kind of weird. I hope Mabel doesn’t embarrass me too much.” Meanwhile, Fang continued to cry. None of her tears stuck to him, or dampened his clothes. Instead, they rolled off like a pane of glass in a rainstorm. “What’s going on?” he asked. 

Fang swallowed some of her tears, the bitter salt flushing through her mouth and throat. “I’m sorry! I was angry and afraid you didn’t like me so I tried to hurt you. I didn’t know what to do and it didn’t occur to me that you felt that way too. I ignored your feelings and acted like I didn’t care about you. And I want to say I do like you and I do want to be Mizar.”

Alcor finally lowered his arms around her, and gently circled his claws at her back. “Shhh… don’t worry about that. I’m not angry with you.” He tucked his cheek up against the top of her head. “I mean, I was. I wanted to hurt you too. But I was wrong and I had no idea about how you felt and… I really hurt you… didn’t I?” She nodded, continuing to cry. His chest heaved against her face, followed by the sound of him hiccuping in turn. “Oh no. Please, don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll cry.” He reached up with one hand to wipe his tears away. “I’m so sorry for what I did, Fang. I started this, it's my fault and I should have known better than to compare you to Mabel and to keep secrets from you. I care about you so much but I lost control and I hurt you. I—“ 

She finished his sentence. “You felt alone and scared. And it made you do things you didn’t want to do.” 

He was quiet, though only for a second. “Yeah. I did. I was scared that you wouldn't like me either. I'm not very good with people. I blame it all on the demon stuff but that's not really true.” 

“I guess that’s one thing we have in common,” she said. “We can be a little stupid when we feel alone and we're not the best at making new friends. We're a little paranoid and conscious." 

He laughed, soft for the first time and genuinely happy. “I guess so.” 

Fang continued to hold on to him, the feeling of her cosmic twin beside her was warm and comforting, down into the depths of her soul. It felt like a culmination of things, of emotions and memories that rested just on the brink of her consciousness, like a thread meant to lead her out of a dark labyrinth. Overcome by an instinct she couldn’t rationalize, Fang pat him twice on the back. And then she felt him squeeze her tighter and cry a little bit harder into her shoulder. 

Drying away her tears, with the back of her hand, Fang smiled. “Does this mean I get to call you Dipper? No offense, but Alcor is kind of dumb and I like your nickname better.” 

He laughed, smearing away the gold tears from his face. “I'd prefer that actually,” he said. “But only if I get to call you Mizar.”   
  


“I’d like that too.”

The metal door slammed open. A series of bright white lights flashed from outside, followed by a gravelly voice crashing against the otherwise subtle silence. “What a tender moment.” The two broke their hug and whipped around to see The Grand Exorcist standing in the doorway, the great glowing hands of Bezemal surrounding him. “It is a shame to end it so soon.” 


	12. The Demon and the Exorcist

Fang felt her heart dig down into her chest, every beat lowering it downwards. 

Accompanied by several other members of the order, The Grand Exorcist paced around the room. Behind them, Tom, Gemma, and Mabel were held at knife point, arms twisted behind their backs as they were handcuffed. “You should have left your wards up. I did,” The Grand Exorcist said, casually tugging at the god’s eye hanging around his neck. "Who would think such a peculiar necklace would allow me to move unseen by any demon." Dipper cast out his wings and tucked Fang behind his back. He snarled and took a step forward, but The Grand Exorcist held out one hand, signalling Dipper to stop in his tracks. “Your ferocity is admirable but you might want to reconsider your approach.” A toothy smile spread across his face, “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to Mizar, would you?” 

Before Fang could register it, a flash of bright daffodil yellow engulfed her sight. Each of Bezemal’s fingers felt like candle wicks melting away at her skin. The mark that had been charred into her back burned white, burning away through the back of her robes. A scream erupted from her throat, and Fang collapsed onto the ground. She tried to yank her body free, but Bezemal’s hands dug deeper into her flesh, sinking under her skin like puppet strings. 

Dipper spun around, panic deep set into his eyes. “L̵e̴t̵ ̸h̶e̵r̸ ̶g̶o̶!̵” He reached forward, trying to pry the angel from her body, but the moment he got too close, the mark on her back burst into flames. Dipper jerked away, black smoke spiraling from his hand. 

Bezemal’s voice roared in her ears and throughout her skull. “ɎØɄ ₥₳Ɏ Ø₩₦ ₥łⱫ₳Ɽ’₴ ₴ØɄⱠ, ₳Ⱡ₵ØⱤ. ฿Ʉ₮ ⱧɆⱤ ฿ØĐɎ ฿ɆⱠØ₦₲₴ ₮Ø ₥Ɇ. ł ₳₥ ⱧɆⱤ ₴₳ⱠV₳₮łØ₦.” 

Dipper’s eyes were riddled with deep and black despair as he slowly backed away from her. Either his voice was too low or the burning of angelic flame was too loud, because she could only see his lips forming her name. 

“ł₣ ɎØɄ ₩ł₴Ⱨ ₮Ø ₭łⱠⱠ ₥Ɇ, ɎØɄ ₥Ʉ₴₮ ₭łⱠⱠ ⱧɆⱤ ₣łⱤ₴₮. ₳ⱤɆ ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠł₦₲ ₮Ø ĐØ ₮Ⱨ₳₮?” Bezemal asked. 

Fang was desperate to speak. To tell him to run, to leave her for dead. She would reincarnate a thousand times if that’s what it took to set things right. But he lowered his head and whispered, “No. I’m not.” 

“ɎØɄⱤ Ɇ₥Ø₮łØ₦₴ ₣₳łⱠ ɎØɄ.”

Creeping up from behind, two Exorcists ambushed him, looping dream catchers around his hands and snagging onto his wings. The more he struggled to knock the dreamcatchers away, the more his body folded over itself in origami layers. One Exorcist pulled out their pistol and spritzed him in the face with anointed water to make him hold still. He stumbled to his knees, a smokey snarl escaping through the points of his teeth. It was all too reminiscent of when they first met, and Fang poured the vial of water across his face and caught his hands in her cheap dreamcatcher. Except now she felt afraid for him. 

Outside the secret summoning room, the remaining Exorcists pushed Gemma and Tom out towards the street, likely to be arrested for demonic summonings and assisting a criminal. Mabel struck up a fight, easily knocking away the two Exorcists trying to restrain her. And of course it was easy, Mabel was a Mizar, after all, and definitely no stranger to fights. She kicked down one of the exorcists in front of her, and quickly swiped the knife from their belt. Looking over at Fang and Dipper, an angry, red glow formed in her cheeks. She bolted for them, slashing at anyone who came too close. Raising the knife, she dared to take a stab at The Grand Exorcist, only to be tackled to the ground by Exorcist Mace. He forced her head down onto the floor and pinned her arms down with his knees. 

“Shall we restrain this woman and put her with the others?” asked Exorcist Mace. 

The Grand Exorcist puckered his thin lips together. Guiding one boney hand just over Mabel, he snickered to himself. He then turned to Bezemal awaiting instructions. “₴ⱧɆ ł₴ ₮ⱧɆ ₵ⱤɆ₳₮łØ₦ Ø₣ ₳ ĐɆ₥Ø₦. ł₥₱ɄⱤɆ ₳₦Đ ₦Ø₮ ₥Ɇ₳₦₮ ₮Ø ɆӾł₴₮. ĐɆ₴₮ⱤØɎ ⱧɆⱤ ł₥₥ɆĐł₳₮ɆⱠɎ.” 

Dipper winced and looked away reluctantly, but Fang tried to scream for Mabel. Her words got caught within her throat, unable to escape the ethereal hand that covered her mouth. Mabel tried to push herself up, though Exorcist Mace continually forced her back down. Unsheathing his knife, he firmly gripped it into his hand and then plunged it into Mabel’s back. Red blood poured from her back, dampening and darkening the electric green sweater. But then the blood turned a hollow black, and her body crumbled into an ash. Fang couldn’t hear the scream that she tried to unleash as the ash dissipated. Exorcist Mace leapt back in surprise, the dust beneath him now completely gone. 

“₮ⱧɆⱤɆ ł₴ ₦Ø Ø₦Ɇ ⱠɆ₣₮ ₮Ø ⱧɆⱠ₱ ɎØɄ ฿Ʉ₮ ₥Ɇ.” Bezemal’s voice rang through her head, and only her head. It trailed along each finger, each grip into her skin. With each word the mark on her back burned. “₴₱Ɇ₳₭ Ⱨł₴ ₦₳₥Ɇ.” 

Suddenly she felt compelled to speak. The taste of his name was on her lips and it clawed violently at the soft flesh of her throat. Fang whimpered, desperate not to let the truth slip through the cage of her teeth. 

Forced to rise to her feet, Bezemal lowered her hand to the knife around her waist. Her fingers unwillingly laced around the hilt and pulled it free. “₴₱Ɇ₳₭ Ⱨł₴ ₦₳₥Ɇ,” Bezemal commanded again. Her palm was sweaty against the knife, her arm sore as Bezemal raised her hand, “ɎØɄ ₴Ⱨ₳ⱠⱠ ₳₵₮ ₳₴ ₥Ɏ Ⱨ₳₦Đ₴ ł₦ ₮ⱧɆ ₩₳Ɽ ₳₲₳ł₦₴₮ ₵Ⱨ₳Ø₴. ₴₱Ɇ₳₭ Ⱨł₴ ₦₳₥Ɇ ₳₦Đ ฿Ɽł₦₲ ĐØ₩₦ ɎØɄⱤ ₩Ɇ₳₱Ø₦.”

Fang choked again, struggling to resist. Her gaze fell on Dipper, nearly blinded by the yellow light and the swirl of her tears. She wanted him to run, to fight back, to think of a plan. Anything that would get him out of there. She couldn’t lose him so quickly, not after finally making up with him. But instead he looked at her, golden eyes wide. He struggled against the dream catchers, only to cause them to writhe further up his arms. He blazed with intense blue fire, the edges of her sight starting to turn green. But nothing would burn him free. A summoning circle formed at his feet but yet he couldn’t teleport away. It became clear he was out of ideas.

Bezemal choked at her throat again, nearly squeezing his name out of her. The lattice of the angel’s mark stung against her back, each of its lines pulling at her, inscribing her as an object. The possession tugged at her body. She felt like nothing but meat and skin, fragile and expendable. But she was more than that. She was Mizar. Bezemal owned her body, but not her soul.

“₴₱Ɇ₳₭ Ⱨł₴ ₦₳₥Ɇ!” Bezemal demanded again, voice so loud and consuming Fang could think no other thought. The mark writhed against her skin. Each line, each burn commanded her to move. But Bezemal could grip into her body, reduce her to flesh, but her soul would keep burning with resistance. A string tugged in her gut, guiding her through the labyrinth of light and angelic destruction. 

Holding the knife high over her head and prepared to plunge it downwards, she felt herself speak in a familiar voice that was not entirely her own, but a culmination of everyone she ever was. “ _No_.” And then, with all of the strength of her soul, the force of every life lived, she sliced the knife against the mark on her back. 

Bezemal was expelled from her body, a sudden burst of cold rising through her skin. Warm blood trailed along her spine. The knife slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

“ł₦₴ØⱠɆ₦₮ ₵ⱧłⱠĐ!” Bezemal cried, voice booming like imminent thunder. “ɆⱠł₥ł₦₳₮Ɇ ₮ⱧɆ₥ ฿Ø₮Ⱨ.” The room lit up a fluorescent yellow, hundreds of Bezemal’s immaterial hands wrapping around and guiding the Order towards them. 

Grabbing to the dreamcatchers restraining Dipper, she yanked them free and broke them over her knee. Instantly, he grabbed her hand. For a moment she wasn’t sure why. But when she looked down, cultbasher was placed firmly into her palm, its pink glitter flashing up into her eyes. It made her body electric. 

Spinning around, Fang plunged the cultbasher into the nearest Exorcist. Its nails dug into their soft and meaty flesh, fresh blood spilling out from it. The Exorcist slashed their knife forward, incognizant of the rusty nails protruding from their gut— Bezemal’s possession holding strong through the glowing mark on their hand. Yanking the bat free, she swung it over her head, smashing it into the skull of that same Exorcist and then aiming for the neck of another. 

It felt wrong. She knew each of the faces of her combatants, their names. Many of them had children, some her own age. And with every swing she knew she was leaving someone an orphan— just as she had been earlier that day. But she also remembered their cold, iron control, the violence they carried throughout her childhood. These were the same adults who taught weekend classes, who made it feel like there was no life other than Exorcism. The people who scoffed when she asked how she was supposed to balance both school and Exorcist training. The people who berated her and beat her mercilessly in the name of the angel. The same people who congratulated her the night before on her initiation, not caring that it had left her trembling and in pain, and then turning against her the next day. 

They were possessed. Hungry for an insatiable control and order that did not exist naturally among humans. 

Fang wiped the spattered blood from her face and brought down her bat again. 

Tossing out a hand, Dipper covered the room in a layer of crawling blue flames. Bodies dropped one by one, Bezemal’s influence being pried out of them. He had become darkness, a shapeless thing that snatched at shadows with piercing claws. 

A knife slashed against Fang's side, blocked mostly by the thick fabric of her robes but still cutting into the soft skin between her ribs. A group of Exorcists eased up around her, trying to grab hold of her or dig their knives into her body. Shrinking back, Fang grabbed the grappling hook that hung from her cord and launched it at the overhanging beams on the ceiling. Zipping out of the way, she watched from above as Dipper turned and launched another arc of fire. Dropping from the ceiling, Fang ambushed Exorcist Mace. She dropped onto his shoulders, knocking both of them to the ground. Grabbing the cultbasher she wound back her arm, “I think you trained me too well, Master.” 

Her mouth tasted like blood, only some of her own. The secret room seemed empty, devoid of the great glowing hands of Bezemal. As Fang tried to rise to her feet, something smacked into the side of her face, slicing into her skin. A bloodied boot smacked into her chest, and forced her down to the ground. 

The Grand Exorcist stood over her, Bezemal’s fingers gripping into his bony arms and chest. He raised the sacred sword over her, the god’s eye tied around its hilt, causing the runes and enchantments to flash an angry and powerful red. A drop of her blood ran down the blade. “ł ₳₥ ɎØɄⱤ ₴₳ⱠV₳₮łØ₦, ₣₳₦₲. ł ₴Ⱨ₳ⱠⱠ ⱤɆ₥ØVɆ ₳ⱠⱠ ₮ⱧɆ ₵Ⱨ₳Ø₴ Ø₣ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ.” When the sword came down, something blocked it. Fang blinked a few times, realizing what had taken the blow. Dipper stood over her, the sacred sword protruding from his chest. She heard it hiss and sizzle, as he pried it free and dropped it to the ground, followed by a golden eruption of blood. 

“C̸̦̓̓̋ͅö̵̹̱̙́m̸̗̯͋e̷͍͉̚ ̶͍͇̭̈́ȯ̷͔̣́̇̚n̸̥̽̄͑ͅ,̶͍̔͝ ̶̯̹̮͆̆m̵̧̒̑ą̵̽̑̈́̑n̵̛̝̯̦̐̔̉.̴̠͂ ̵̞̖̫̗̊͆͊̈Į̷͐͜͝s̶̘̜̆̈̕ ̵͔̍t̵͇̠̂͒̌ẖ̷̝̰̃͐̕ḁ̴̧̈́̅̆ṭ̴͎͑͌̿̕ ̷̭̬͙̂̏͜t̷̥̟̗͚̊̎h̷̬̩̊͛͂͗ę̷̢̾̽̀͘ ̶̧̩͖͚̆̆͊w̸̛̟̐̿̽ŏ̶̯̤̙̋̏r̴̟̙̅͐͛̾s̷̺̲̘̉̐̅t̷͕̽̈̆̽ ̶̪̞͍͇͋y̵̠̌̾̈́̏o̶͓͖͜u̶̫̯̟̇̌̇'̷̺͔̺̓͆v̶̼̌ĕ̵̟̦̆̅͝ ̴̘͕͕́ĝ̴̠̳͊̓o̵̤̙̐̿͘ṯ̸̐?̷̯̾̅͛ ̷̨̮̻̎͌̇,” he said with a laugh, though fatigue had crept around the sides of his voice. 

“₦Ø.” Splitting from the Grand Exorcist’s body, Bezemal lunged at Dipper. It made her head spin to watch, the blinding light in battle with something so dark her mind could not even register it. 

Fang rolled on her side so she could push herself up from the ground. Her ribs ached in her chest, obviously bruised if not broken. Every cut and scrape and nick that decorated her skin screamed for relief. As she stumbled onto her knees, another kick plastered itself into her spine. 

The Grand Exorcist took another step towards her, dragging the sword. Leaning down, he wrapped one arm around Fang to hold her steady, while using the other hand to wring around her chin. “There is still time to save yourself, my dear. Don’t let your talent as an Exorcist go to waste now.” He jerked her face towards the fight, causing her eyes to burn and her skull to pound as if punctured with an ice pick. Dipper and Bezemal sliced at each other, trying to get a grip solid enough to hold the other down. Where white blood would pool from Bezemal’s luminous and shapeless form, soon to be healed over, Dipper continued to bleed in gold trails. “Your Alcor is still weak. Your betrayal has left him slow to react and even slower to heal. If you give him up, I shall see to it that you are pardoned. You will be my right hand in rebuilding our glorious Order.” 

Fang grunted, making sure the cultbasher was firm in her grasp. Swinging back her elbow, she sunk the cultbasher into his side, leaving it there for the nails to sink and drag into her skin. Elbowing him in the gut, she broke free of his grasp and knocked him to the floor. She wished she had something cool or quippy to say, like in those cheesy horror movies she liked so much. But instead she reached for the sacred sword, untangling the god’s eye from its hilt, and hanging it from her neck where it belonged. Then she took the sword and lodged it into his throat. 

Turning around, Fang watched in horror as Dipper snarled and took a step forward. He raised a hand of blazing fire, only for Bezemal to latch onto his arm and rip it free from his body. He stumbled backwards, allowing for Bezemal to rip away part of his wing. “ɎØɄ'ⱤɆ ₮ØØ ₩Ɇ₳₭ ₮Ø ₣ł₲Ⱨ₮ ₥Ɇ, ĐⱤɆ₳₥฿Ɇ₦ĐɆⱤ. ł ₩łⱠⱠ ĐɆVØɄⱤ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ ₳₦Đ Ɇ₦Đ ɎØɄⱤ ₵Ⱨ₳Ø₴.” Dipper stumbled, losing energy to fight back and losing it fast. 

Panic quickly settled into Fang’s bones, dulling any sense of pain that she had. Ripping the cultbasher free, she didn’t know if it would be able to stand up to an angel, let alone if she could. But she rose to her feet anyway, as if a string ran through her chest and legs and guided her towards Dipper. She sprinted, reeling back the bat behind her shoulders, and then smashed it up against Bezemal. And again, and again, without stopping. Something ancient and primal built up inside of her, like something had clicked inside of her soul. It made her feel like a burning star. “You stay away from him,” Fang growled. “He’s _mine_.” 

The cultbasher lit up with blue demonic flame, the tendrils moving down across the hilt and onto Fang’s arms. She was on fire. Beating down the bat, she heard the familiar pop and sizzle of burning skin. Bezemal spiralled back, jarred and confused. But then Bezemal screamed, an angry whistle that nailed itself into her skull and blinded her for a moment. Blinking the spots from her eyes, Bezemal’s hands had been shaped into a mouth snaggled teeth and wicked tongue snarling at her. 

A second burst of burst fire shot into Bezemal, this time from Dipper. The fire tore through Bezemal, charring away at the fingers and palms of the angels’ indistinct and luminous body. “₴Ø ฿Ɇ ł₮,” Bezemal said, hands forming to make the movements of lips, blue fire spilling out with each word. “ĐØ ₦Ø₮ ⱤɆ₳Đ ₥Ɏ ₳₵₮₴ ₳₴ ₱ł₮Ɏ. ł ₩łⱠⱠ ⱤɆ₮ɄⱤ₦ ₳₦Đ ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ฿Ø₮Ⱨ ĐłɆ.” 

And then in a blink, Bezemal was gone. 

Fang finally took a breath. Her lungs felt stale and her mouth tasted sour. Everything in her body gave way. Dipper narrowly caught her with his one arm before she collapsed onto the floor. He laid her down gently, the cool tile floor slick with shimmering black ash and various colors of blood. The lights overhead were blinding and the air smelled like a nauseating combination of blood, sweat, and ice cream freezers. Then he fell down beside her, maybe from exhaustion or solidarity or even both. 

Fang kept breathing. That felt like the only thing she could do. 

She looked over at Dipper, who was simply holding still, unmoving. He had disappeared from reality entirely, body translucent and shimmering from within the Mindscape. He looked broken, literally torn to pieces. “Are you okay?” she asked. It hurt to speak, the back of her throat sore and raw. Her world was covered with thick black spots that appeared in the corner of her eyes like burning paper. 

He glanced back over. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I can regenerate. Demon stuff.” 

“Well, if you need any blood offerings, I’m oozing the stuff right now. So have at it.” 

“I think the bigger issue is: are you okay?” 

“Uhm no.” 

“Well, you did just fight an angel and not die.” He paused, “Have I mentioned that you are terrifying? Because you are. And I've seen lots of scary stuff." 

Fang laughed, though only for a second before her ribs clenched around her chest and her lungs swelled up. A cough pressurized its way upwards making her wince. Black spots danced across her vision. Police sirens wailed in the distance making her ears ring. Red and blue lights bounced off the back wall of the ice cream shop, making her dizzy. “Everything… hurts…” she muttered. 

Dipper leaned over her. She liked that he was close and gentle. His gaze was pleasantly dark and concerned. “Shh. It’s okay, Fang. You’re gonna be just fine. I promise. You can relax now.” She closed her eyes, only to find herself unable to open them again. 


	13. The Twin Stars

' _Following the attack by Alcor the Dreambender in New Portland just a few days ago, The Order of Exorcists has been disbanded by the federal government while the remaining members await trial for the charges of demonic summoning, child endangerment, and endangering the public. Until the trial comes to a conclusion all minors belonging to the group are in custody of the government, flooding the New Portland foster care system. More on this in just a few moments.’_

Fang kept her head down low, the curve of her loose hair, free of pigtails, brushing against her chin. It smelled like the hospital shower, hard water and bitter soap. Her lungs felt heavy and the air tasted like sour cleaning solutions. She flicked a hand towards the holoscreen, causing the screen to go dark and the hologram projection to disappear. 

She wasn’t sure how many days it had been since her fight with the Exorcists. All she knew was that she woke up in the hospital some days later. Her eyes were sticky and heavy with sleep and the sheets were itchy. A doctor came by and explained her injuries: 3 stab wounds, 2 cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, and a punctured lung. While most of her wounds had been treated with what was referred to as “the best in bio-magical technology”, the doctor explained that they couldn’t fully reconstruct the burn on her upper back. That whatever had branded her had damaged the skin beyond repair. 

The god’s eye was gone; and when she asked the nurses if they had seen a pendant shaped like an eye they only shrugged. She hadn't arrived at the hospital with a necklace. In fact, everything of hers was gone; including her plain clothes and robes. 

She spent most of her days at the hospital falling into a dark sleep. The dreams were brutal, images of slick blood and gripping hands. Fire crawled around each of her thoughts. She would feel herself choke, as if something wanted to scratch itself free of her throat. She once woke up to a nurse gently tapping her awake. Her heart rate had gone up so quickly that it alerted the medial team. The doctor prescribed something for that. It only made her sleep more, sinking her deeper into restlessness. 

On the first day she was allowed to get up and take a shower, Fang traced a summoning circle onto the steamy mirror in the bathroom with one careful index finger. It wasn't a perfect circle, but the intention was there. She chanted in gentle latin, prepared to offer up the strawberry flavored gelatin from her hospital meal. But Dipper never showed. 

In fact, he didn’t show up at all. He didn’t leave any instructions or encode a message into the holo screen that hung over her bed. He didn’t show up in her dreams or appear at the foot of the bed, ready to coo into her ear and reassure her that everything would be fine. And the longer he stayed away, the more afraid Fang became. 

One day a demonologist came into her room and started asking questions. Fang lied throughout all of it: she claimed that the Order wanted to summon and kill Alcor, using the ice cream shop so they could frame The Circle of the Dreamer’s Star. That her parents offered her up as a sacrifice, and they enlisted her in the Order as a trick to make her more obedient and unassuming. But it only enraged Alcor more, and he killed all of them except for her. 

It felt like a terrible lie. That they would catch her inconsistencies somewhere. Or later interview Gemma and Tom to find the whole truth. She even entertained the thought that they might believe her to be a member of the famed New Portland mafia The Dinner Crew. But instead the demonologist smiled, thanked her, and left the room without a further word.   
  
And so she waited. But as more days passed, the less she believed Dipper was coming back for her. 

“Child Protective Services is here,” said a nurse, poking into Fang’s hospital room. “They’re going to help you figure out the next steps. We’ve passed off your discharge information to the representative. Take care, dear.” 

Fang stared down at the clothes the hospital staff had given her; seeing that she had nothing off her own and the demonologists investigating her house wouldn’t let her have any of her clothes. Just a plain pair of turquoise scrub pants and a bright pink t-shirt obviously pulled from a storage bin with the words _St. Wendy Supernatural Response Hospital Fundraiser 7009_ sprawled across the front. 

There was a knock on the door frame, but she refused to greet whoever was there, keeping her head down. The last thing she wanted was to go to a foster home and run the risk of being an unwanted child in an unfamiliar home, all while trying to befriend a demon. “Hello, Fang." The voice was familiar in a way she didn’t recognize. "My name is Al. I’m here to pick you up.” A figure stood in the door. A man of indeterminate age with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. He wore a plain reddish t-shirt and jeans, not very professional at all, if anything he was rubbing in how non-professional he was. He smiled at her, a kind but mischievous grin. He was perfectly normal, and yet somehow, anything but. 

She put one hand over her mouth to cover up her gasp. But it also covered up the grin that spread across her face. “You came!” 

He winked, a playful little nudge in his charade. “Of course I did.” He extended a hand to her and pulled her up from the uncomfortable hospital bed. 

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Fang muttered. 

“What? Now way! I would never abandon you like that. I had a lot on my plate," he counted on his fingers. "Growing my arm back-- which is super creepy by the way. I had to break Tom and Gemma out of jail, erase some memories, sneakily influence some demonologists, all of that. It’s been a busy week. Nice lie about the Exorcists using you as a sacrifice, by the way.” 

“You know about that?” 

“I sorta know about most things,” he said with a shrug. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.” He lead her through the halls of the hospital, very obviously tricking everyone nearby to fall for his charade. Leading her out into the street, a car was parked suspiciously close to the entrance, a dark-haired figure in the front seat. 

Fang squinted, “Is that?” 

The figure leaned out of the driver’s seat window, waving with one hand and honking the car horn with the other. “Guys, over here! It’s me! Your favorite get away driver.” 

“Mabel!” Fang bolted towards the car, despite the stiff and sharp pain in her abdomen that told her to stop. She embraced Mabel in a hug, flooded with relief. “You’re okay!” Fang buried her face into Mabel’s shoulder. Her pink wool sweater itched against Fang’s cheek, causing her skin to turn red and bumpy with irritation from her wool allergy. 

“Uh. Duh, I’m okay. I’m not real! I’m just a bunch of memory stuff. Dip can easily rebuild me.” 

Dipper shrugged and ushered Fang into the back of the car. “Mabel insisted on seeing you. And I had to give her something to do.” He sat down next to Fang, letting the human disguise fall off of him to reveal the familiar demon underneath. It was strange to have him so close, not having to give him permission or feeling afraid. 

“And I also have something for you!” Mabel said, reaching over onto the passenger side seat. She pulled out a black lump of fabric and held it outwards. “Ta-da!” It was a fluffy, black sweater, with a silver skull embroidered on the front. “I think this is more your style. And it’s made of a cotton polyester blend, so you don’t have to worry about getting a rash.” She pointed to Fang’s cheek, which had grown red and patchy. 

Fang slipped on the sweater, thankful to have something that wasn’t a hospital gown or bright pink fundraiser t-shirt. It was warm and soft, coming just to the tips of her knuckles. She felt tempted to pull it over her knees and huddle inside of it. 

“And this,” Dipper said, pulling the item from thin air, “also belongs to you. Sorry I had to take it. Walking around with a big magical eyeball would tip a few people off.” He strung the god’s eye back around her neck. 

Fang curled herself into her gifts. “Thank you.” 

“Aww. You’re welcome,” Mabel said. “But pay no more attention to me. You guys have a lot to talk about. I'll just be here… driving… listening to every word you say.” She pushed the button to start the engine and started off down the road. 

Dipper sighed, and leaned back into the seat. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt, or even sitting down, he was simply floating in the air. “Fang… I’m so sorry. All of this is my fault. I was being obsessive and paranoid and I treated you like you weren’t good enough.” 

“He was being a stupid jerk!” Mabel shouted. “Okay, sorry, sorry. I’ll be quiet now.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m a stupid jerk. I lost control. You were right to panic and attempt my murder-- and honestly, I think I needed that. Now that I'm saying it out loud it sounds weird. But sometimes my demonic instincts get away from me and…” He caught himself rambling and cleared his throat. “Anyway, if you never want to see me again after this, I understand.” Snapping his fingers, an old fashioned stack of papers dropped into his lap. “I’ve looked at all the available foster homes and I found a few that would be sufficient. Or I can make some arrangements for you to stay with your great aunt. Just know that whatever you choose, you’ll always be my sister.” 

“I don’t feel like your sister,” Fang replied, almost too plainly. “We don’t really have those brother and sister experiences,” she explained. “But you also don’t feel like a casual friend either. You’re more like my supernatural other half, my binary star… my cosmic twin.” 

Dipper raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you playing at?”

She sucked in a breath, the car smelling like electricity and leather. “I’m not done seeing you. And I definitely don’t want to live in a foster home where I have to go through the same struggle of hiding who I am. And you just so happen to have this house running around in the forest that no one is living in. So if it's okay, I want to stay in the Mystery Shack with you and Mabel. I want to spend at least some portion of my life growing up with my cosmic twin. I think we deserve a second chance. If that's okay?" 

He grinned, “It's definitely okay. It'd be fun, you know, to actually spend time together where we aren't mortal enemies." 

“Me too! Yes, definitely, absolutely!” Mabel shouted. “It would be like a huge slumber party happening all the time! I love this plan! I'll have to find my big list of cool sleep over activities!" 

Fang laughed and eased in a little closer next to Dipper, already tired and worn out from the day. He tucked the side of his head up against hers, the strands of their hair starting to interweave. At first Fang flinched, not used to him being so close, but then she sunk in closer. They stuck close together like twin stars in an eternal orbit. Fang looked up to see he had his eyes closed and a faint smile pressed into his lips. 

And in that moment, Fang felt herself wake up as if from a long sleep. Like a dislocated shoulder snapped back into place. Something old, powerful, and real tucked inside her soul. 

The sweater felt familiar wrapped around her back and the sunset streaming through the windows of the car reminded her of a long bus ride she and her brother once took to a sleepy town called Gravity Falls 5,000 years ago. The way he would yawn and lean up next to her. She smiled, grateful just to be present for a moment. “I am always with you,” she muttered softly in a voice that was not her own, hoping that maybe he wouldn’t hear her. She snuggled in close, grateful for the warmth that always radiated off of him. It was just like old times.

And then Fang closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! There’s plenty more Fang adventures to be had! Tell me what you thought of enjoyed so I know what bits of the story you want to hear more about! Love you <3


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